FROM  THE  LIBRARY  OF 
REV.   LOUIS    FITZGERALD    BENSON,  D.  D, 

BEQUEATHED   BY  HIM  TO 

THE  LIBRARY  OF 

PRINCETON  THEOLOGICAL  SEMINARY 


CARMINA    CRUCIS. 


V 


^■OFP«/^ 


^PR  26  ]934 
CARMfNA    CR  H%I  £L  8cW^ 


s 


BY 

DORA     GREBNWBLL. 


Et  Teneo  *LtL  fk     \  ei  Teh 


BOSTON: 
ROBERTS    BROTHERS. 

1869. 


DEDICATED   TO    L.    A.    C. 

"  T  TOOK,"  said  Luther,  "for  the  symbol  of 
my  theology  a  seal  on  which  I  had  en- 
graven a  cross,  with  a  heart  in  its  centre.  The 
cross  is  black,  to  indicate  the  sorrows,  even  unto 
death,  through  which  the  Christian  must  pass; 
but  the  heart  preserves  its  natural  colour,  for  the 
cross  does  not  extinguish  nature,  it  does  not  kill, 
but  give  life.  Justus  fide  vivet,  sed  fide  crucifixi. 
The  heart  is  placed  in  the  midst  of  a  white  rose, 
which  signifies  the  joy,  peace,  and  consolation 
which  faith  gives  ;  but  the  rose  is  white  and  not  red, 
because  it  is  not  the  joy  and  peace  of  the  world, 
but  of  spirits." 


a  2 


C  0  X  T  E  X  T  S. 


FIRST    PART. 

L'Envoi 

Page 
xi 

The  Garden  of  Proserpine           .... 

1 

The  Aloe           .... 

3 

A  Morning  in  Spring 

5 

The  Playfellows 

s 

One  Friend       .... 

10 

A  Remembrance 

12 

A  Life-Requiem 

14 

A  Thought  at  Midnight      . 

17 

November         .... 

18 

Desdichado 

21 

Coelo  tegitur  qui  non  habet  Urnam 

23 

Oh,  amiable,  lovely  Death  ! 

29 

SECOND    PART. 

A  Pastoral         ....... 

45 

A  Mystery         ....... 

•51 

Quis  separabit 

53 

The  Cross 

57 

viii                               CONTENTS. 

A  Song  of  Joy  and  Pain     .... 

Page 
62 

Summa  Theologise     ..... 

66 

Sponsalia  Amoris  et  Doloris 

71 

The  Marriage  Supper  of  the  Lamb     . 

75 

Schola  Cruris,  Schola  Lucis 

79 

Si  descendero  in  Infernum,  Ades 

81 

Quid  dixit,  Maria  ? 

85 

THIRD   PART. 

L'Envoi 

91 

The  Sun-flower 

93 

Sita          •          . 

95 

Expectans  Expectavi         . 

99 

Election  ........ 

102 

Buried,  yet  not  dead         . 

106 

Receiving          ....... 

111 

Declension  and  Revival      . 

115 

Vespers    ........ 

117 

The  Meek  shall  increase  their  Joy  in  the  Lord   . 

119 

Christ's  Garland        ...... 

125 

Veni,  Veni,  Emmanuel     ..... 

129 

Notes 

137 

JFitst  Ipatt. 


"  ftnoto  it  not  tbat  00  manp  of  jxu  as  aie  fcaptijefc 
unto  £f?rist  arebapmeo  unto  fcis  ucati?."— Romans  vi.  3 


L'ENVOI. 

T)  KING  me  no  snowdrops  cold, 

■^  No  violets  dim  with  clew, 
But  flowers  of  burning  hue, 
The  rose,  the  marigold, 
The  steadfast  sunflower  bold. 
Before  His  steps  to  strew. 
Bring  flowers  of  fragrant  scent, 
Grey  lavender  and  musk, 
With  clinging  woodbines  dusk, 
Bring  jonquils,  and  the  frail  narcissus  bent, 
Bring  odours,  incense  bring, 
That  I  may  rise  and  sing 
A  song  which  I  have  made  unto  my  Lord  the  King. 

And  let  the  air  be  still ; 

Summer  and  death  are  silent !  now  I  hear 

No  stir  among  the  hedge-rows  once  so  shrill 

With  song,  no  cuckoo  near; 

But  o'er  the  field  the  lark 

Hangs  like  a  quivering  spark 

Of  joy,  that  breaks  in  fire 

Of  rapture  and  desire  ; 

And  from  the  wood  a  dove 

Moans  between  grief  and  love, 

While  none  doth  of  her  hidden  wound  enquire. 


L ENVOI. 

The  heavens  above  are  clear 

In  splendour  of  the  sapphire,  cold  as  steel, 

]N"o  warm  soft  cloud  floats  over  them,  no  tear 

Will  fall  on  earth  to  tell  us  if  they  feel ; 

But  ere  the  pitiless  day 

Dies  into  evening  grey, 

Along  the  western  line 

Rises  a  fiery  sign 
That  doth  the  glowing  skies  incarnadine. 


THE    GARDEN   OF   PROSERPINE. 

AMARANTH  and  asphodel, 
Methinks  I  know  ye  well, 
And  thou,  frail  wind-swept  flower  that  in  the  dim 
Green  woods,  unseen  by  him 
Thou  lovest  best,*  must  pass,  beloved  in  vain  ! 
Here  blooms  each  flower  whose  leaf 
Or  petal  hints  at  grief 
And  bears  a  mystic  sign,  a  crimson  stain ; 
The  golden  rod  with  fire 
Stands  tipp'd,  the  tuberose, 
In  its  swift  fading  glows 
And  lights  within  its  heart  a  funeral  pyre. 
No  roses,  white  nor  red, 
Glow  here,  the  poppy's  head 


*  See  note  1. 
B 


2        THE    GARDEN    OF   PROSERPINE. 

Droops  drown'd  in  spells  that  keep 
The  keys  of  death  and  sleep, 
Of  anguish,  ecstasy,  and  wild  desire  ; 
Here  ever  on  the  turf  green  twilight  lies  ; 
Here  ever  warm  and  fragrant  is  the  air, 
And  all  this  place  is  desolate  and  fair, 
Made  by  a  King  and  meet  for  Love's  delight ; 
Yet  here  joy  comes  not,  bnt  the  exquisite 
Brief  thrill  of  rapture  in  a  pang  that  dies. 
Here  walks  a  Queen  with  steadfast  eyes  unwet, 
With  white  Narcissus  garlanded,  that  still 
Dreams  of  fair  Enna's  sunlit  mead,  and  yet 
Mourns  for  the  fresh,  ungather'd  daffodil. 


THE   ALOE. 

"The  aloe,  after  a  long-  life  of  rest,  sends  up  a  large  flower- 
spike,  which  shoots  up  in  a  few  weeks  on  a  stem  from  twenty 
to  thirty  feet  high,  utterly  destroying  the  parent  plant  by  its 
rapid,  exhausting  growth." 

LOVE'S  daily,  fond,  continual  miracle 
I  cannot  work  for  thee,  nor  crown  thy  day 
Each  passing  hour  with  bloom  of  bud  and  bell ; 
:Not  mine  with  subtle  fancies  light  and  gay 
To  clasp  thy  soul  about  with  delicate  rings 
Like  hers,  the  summer's  wooer,  born  with  wings, 
Sweet  flower  that  fain  would  climb,  yet  only  clings  ! 

Let  flowers  like  hers  be  fair, 

For  they  were  born  to  bless 

The  warm,  still  brooding  air, 

And  win  the  wind's  caress  ; 

Such  flowers  were  born  to  woo, 

To  flatter,  yet  be  true, 
And  spend  their  souls  away  in  fond  excess  ; 


i  THE   ALOE. 

So  let  the  cystus'  snows 
Fall  light  upon  the  sunny  grass  at  noon  ; 

So  let  the  gorgeous  rose 
Fold  to  her  proud  warm  heart  the  heart  of  June, 
And  let  each  pass  in  passing  of  the  leaf, 
In  passing  of  the  flower,*  when  earthward  goes 
All  that  earth  knows  of  glory,  sweet  and  brief ; 

A  flower  that  is  not  fair, 
But  wondrous,  blooms  my  secret  soul  within; 
Sudden  the  life  it  springs  to  !  strange  and  rare 
The  aspect  that  it  weareth,  long  shut  in 
From  sunshine  and  sweet  air  as  in  a  tomb ; 
It  cleaves  the  heart  that  beareth  it  to  win 
A  moment's  triumph  ending  in  swift  doom ; 
— Then  marvel  not  that  it  was  slow  to  bloom. 


"  De  la  tige  detachee 
Pauvre  feuille  dessechee, 
Ou  vas-tu  ? 

Je  vais  ou  le  vent  me  mene 
Sans  me  plaindre  ou  m'effrayer 
Je  vais  ou  vais  toute  chose, 
Ou  va  la  feuille  de  rose, 
La  feuille  de  Iaurier. 


A   MOEXING  IN   SPRING. 

HOW  sweetly,  sweetly  spoke 
Flowers,  fields,  and  sunny  skies  that  morn 

in  May  ! 
As  if  the  Earth  awoke 
Some  plain,  old,  long-accustomed  word  to  say, 
But  seeing  Heaven  come  forth  upon  the  way 
To  meet  her,  in  an  unsought  poem  broke  ! 
Methought  her  very  breast, 
As  with  a  sigh  repress'd, 
A  long,  deep  sigh  of  bliss,  did  swell  and  heave ; 
The  skies  above  were  clear. 
The  kiss  without  the  tear 
They  gave  that  morn;    they  loved  and  did  not 
grieve. 

Each  tender  presage  curl'd 
Within  the  bud  unfurl'd  : 


6  A    MORNING    IN   SPRING. 

All  plumed  and  wing'd  each  leaf,  while  light  and 

shade 
Did  mix,  and  chase,  and  lovingly  invade 
The   others'    realm ;    each    cottage   seem'd   a 

nest 
Among   its    trees ;    the   meads    were    golden 

fair, 
Odour,  and  light,  and  bloom  upon  the  air 
Strove  which  might  tell  its  happy  story  best. 

Oh,  Earth,  I  feel  thee  press 

My  soul  in  thy  caress  ; 
What  wouldst  thou  speak  to  me  ?    thou  sayest, 
"  Guess  ! " 

Is  now  some  ancient  bond 
Of  discord  harsh  repeal' d  ? 

Is  now  some  world  beyond 
To  sight  and  sense  reveal' d  ? 

Or  is  this  but  a  veil 

Thou  drawest  o'er  thy  pale 

Worn  face  ?  is  this  thy  pride 

Of  spirit  that  would  hide 
Thy  wound  beneath  thy  vesture's  broider'd  fold  ? 

Enough  !  thou  wilt  not  tell 

Thy  secret  till  a  spell 


A    MORNING    IN    SPRING.  7 

More   strong   shall  wrest  and  wring  it  from  thy 
hold. 

Smile  on,  o'er  good  and  ill 

Brooding  nnconscions  still, 
Sphynx-like,  impassive,  terrible  and  cold  ! 


THE   PLAYFELLOWS. 

I   ^AR  away  and  long  ago, 
■*-      Long  ago  and  far  away, 
Seems  it  now  since  in  the  low 
Deep  valley,  shut  from  rougher  weather. 
Love,  Hope,  Joy,  and  I  together 
Play'd,  ah  !  many  and  many  a  day ; 
Hid  beneath  the  branching  fern, 
Hid  beneath  the  blooming  heather, 
Hiding,  seeking,  each  in  turn  ; 
Oh  !  what  games  we  play'd  together  ! 
Till  one  day,  within  the  dell, 
Hope  and  Joy,  together  hiding, 
Hid  so  long  and  hid  so  well, 
We  found  them  not,  though  keenly  chiding 
When  we  call'd  came  no  replying, 
Came  a  sound  of  hidden  laughter 


THE   PLAYFELLOWS. 

From  the  wood's  deep  heart,  and  after 
Came  a  sound  of  secret  sighing ; 
Then  a  shadow  from  the  hill 
Crept,  and  all  grew  sudden  still ; 
Gay  and  green  and  golden  there 
Daffodils  'twixt  light  and  shade 
Laugh'd,  blue  periwinkles  made 
Nets  our  childish  feet  to  snare  ; 
On  us  lightly  from  the  bough 
Cherry  blossoms  dropp'd ;  but  now 
Through  the  glen  we  slowly  pass'd, 
We  knew  that  we  had  seen  the  last 
Of  Hope  and  Joy,  no  more  together 
Plav  we  there  in  summer  weather. 


ONE   FRIEND. 

O  AID  a  sick  and  lonely  child, 
Vs-'    "  Often  have  I  tired  of  thee, 
Tired  of  all  thy  answers  mild, 
Heard  so  oft,  so  wearily ; 
Wilt  thou  never  tire  of  me, 
Gentle  Patience  ?  now  look  forth 
From  our  window  looking  north, 
And  tell  ns  where  the  others  play, 
All  this  long,  warm  summer  day." 

"  Love  is  standing  in  the  sun, 
Joy  and  beauty  at  his  side, 
Now  in  one  their  shadows  run, 
Hope  has  sent  an  arrow  wide ; 
Shading  from  his  brow  the  light, 
Now  I  see  him  watch  its  flight." 


ONE   FRIEND.  11 

"  Oh  !  that  the j  would  look  this  way, 

Oh !  that  to  this  quiet  room 

They  would  come  awhile  to  play ! 

See  my  rose-tree  all  in  bloom, 

See  the  flowers  I  dried  last  Spring  ; 

Hear  my  little  linnet  sing 

In  his  cage  !  they  need  not  stay 

Longer  than  they  please  !  "  the  child 

Patience  soothed  with  answer  mild. 


A   REMEMBRANCE. 

"  Herb  ist  des  Lebens 
Innerster  Kern." 

O  HE  sang  at  evening  in  an  ancient  room, 
^-^   In  the  Spring  twilight ;  soft  the  sunset  gloom, 
And  at  the  casement  soft  the  pear-tree's  bloom 
Look'd  in,  and  from  the  coppice  warmings  soft 
And  slender,  met  low  bleatings  from  the  croft, 
Peace  was  on  all  within,  without ;  yet  pain 
Made  sweet  the  singer's  voice,  made  sweet  the 

strain 
She  sang,  and  in  the  listener's  heart  was  pain ; 
What  art  thou,  Life  ?  methinks  thou  leavest  room 
For  the  sweet  bird  to  sing,  the  flower  to  bloom, 
And  canst  not  give  the  heart  its  little  hour 
To  spread  in  sweeter  song,  in  fairer  flower ; 
Oh  !  thou  art  bitter,  Life  !  within  thy  strong 
Rude   grasp  the  birth-right  crushing,  let  this 


A    REMEMBRANCE.  13 

Suffice  thee  !  now  relenting,  let  thy  cold 
Reluctant  hand  one  little  boon  unfold : 
Take  not  the  blessing  also  !  give  the  breast 
One  little  sunset  hour  of  peace  and  rest ; 
Canst  tlwu  not  give  one  hour  ?     The  day  is  past, 
The  summer's  golden  noon  was  overcast  ; 
The  day  is  past,  the  night  draws  on :  oh  !  night  ! 
Be  thou  more  warm,  more  kind,  than   was  the 
light ! 


A   LIFE-REQUIEM. 

"  A  life  that  had  no  friends  but  God  and  death." 

NONE  knoweth  of  thy  grave  ; 
What  wert  thou  ?  kind  and  young, 
Tender,  and  true,  and  brave ; 
Yea,  all  that  hath  been  sung 
In  poet's  song,  or  told 
In  story,  sweet  and  old, 
Was  thine  ;   an  aspect  fair, 
A  heart  to  love  and  dare, 
An  arm  to  guard  and  save, 
A  soul  for  high  emprise ; 
And  still  thine  ardent  eyes 
Woo'd  life  unto  thy  breast, 
And  found  it  fair,  caress'd 
For  all  it  promised,  blest 
By  thee  for  all  it  gave. 


A    LIFE-REQUIEM.  15 

Yet  on  thy  life,  from  day 
To  day,  as  on  the  child 
Outstretch'd  the  Prophet  lay  : 
Pain  lay  outstretch'd,  and  prest 
Upon  thy  brain,  heart,  breast. 
Until  thine  anguish  wild 
And  weary,  changed  and  sank 
To  silent  spaces  blank  : 
And  love,  hope,  joy,  repress'd, 
Seem'd  as  by  harsh  decree 
The  aspect  wend  to  take 
Of  flowers  their  thirst  that  slake 
At  desert  springs,  and  break 
In  hues  of  mockery. 


Life  was  to  thee  a  shroud ; 
Each  day  that  o'er  thee  sped 
Heap'd  ashes  on  thy  head, 
And  through  the  tumult  loud, 
"Twixt  sense  and  spirit,  Pain 
Wove  its  thick  spells,  and  round 
Thy  silent  life-springs  bound 
And  wrapt  its  fine -wrought  chain  ; 


16  A   LIFE-REQUIEM. 

So  didst  thou  sit  and  hear, 
Afar,  the  bird  sing  clear, 
And  see  the  flower  unfold 
In  the  warm  noon- tide  gold ; 
Love  sued  and  pleasure  sang, 
And  like  a  clarion,  pride 
With  full,  clear  summons  rang 
Upon  the  air — all  died. 

None  knoweth  of  thy  grave  ; 
Thy  life  and  heart  in  twain 
Were  broken  ;  even  so, 
How  should  the  passer  know 
Their  record  sad  and  vain  ? 
Fling  in  the  dust,  and  there 
Let  fall  with  it  Life's  fair, 
Fond  presage  unfulnU'd  ; 
Fling  eager  hope  unstill'd, 
And  love,  that  burning  low, 
Burn'd  unconsuming  here ; 
What  need  of  flower  or  tear 
To  mark  this  heaving  sod  ? — 
The  spot  is  mark'd  by  God  ! 


A   THOUGHT  AT  '  MIDNIGHT. 

OH  !  that  some  soul  o'er-weigh'd 
With  love  and  pity,  as  a  flower  with  dew, 
For  me  at  this  still  moment  wept  and  pray'd, 
And  pray'd  for  me  alone  !  that  leaning  through 
My  casement,  now  to  mine  a  spirit  drew 

So  close  it  scarce  conld  hear 

My  secret,  nor  my  tear 

Could  feel,  nor  mark  my  breast 

That  fluttered  in  unrest, 
Till,  like  two  drops  that  roll 
Within  each  other  on  the  shaken  leaf, 
Absorbed  and  sunk  within  the  tender  soul 
Of  pity,  pass'd  the  shrinking  soul  of  grief ! 


NOVEMBER. 

F)OOR  heart  of  mine,  dost  mourn 
-*-      To  see  the  rose-leaves  shed 
Fall  on  their  earthy  bed  ? 
To  see  the  day  outworn 
Fade  out  into  the  dead 
Chill  eve  so  soon  ?  dost  mourn 
Above  the  wither' d  leaf,  the  blighted  corn  ?  " 

"  I  mourn  not  for  the  sped 

Swift  daylight  in  its  close, 

I  mourn  not  for  the  fled 

Fair  spirit  of  the  rose, 

That  pass'd  not  till  it  fed 

With  fragrance  all  the  air 

Of  June  ;  a  sweeter  care 
Was  mine  than  buds  in  thickest  green  enclose, 
A  dearer  hope  than  lives  in  aught  that  dies  and 
blows." 


NOVEMBER.  19 

"  I  mourn  not  for  a  trust 

Misplaced,  a  broken  troth  ; 

Life  healeth  life  that  even  from  the  dust 

Will  stir  and  bloom  ;  I  mourn 

A  sweeter  hope  withdrawn, 

I  miss  the  sealing  of  a  firmer  oath.'' 

"  Wlw  can  endure  this  frost  ? 

Wlio  can  endure  this  coll  ? 

The  harvest's  blighted  gold  ? 

The  buried  seed-corn  lost? 
A  time  of  sweeping  rains,  of  bitter  grief, 
Tlie  deius  are  thick  on  earth  and  light  the  fallen  leafy 

"  And  didst  thou  think  through  prayer 

To  pierce  this  heavy  air  ? 

Through  patience  to  unwind 

The  cere-cloths  of  the  mind  ? 

Through  love  to  breathe  away 

The  grave-damps  of  decay, 

Through  love,  through  faith,  through  prayer. 

Didst  hope  upon  some  fair, 

Fond,  future  day  to  find 

Earth  purer,  Heaven  more  kind  ? 


20  NOVEMBER. 

Behold  !  the  heavens  are  strong,  the  earth  is  old, 
And  all  that  comes  between  is  dim  and  cold. 

"  A  fall  of  wither  d  leaves. 

The  voice  of  one  that  grieves, 

That  grieves  nor  vet  prevails  — 

For  prayer  that  makes  with  Hope 

A  covenant,  yet  fails 

For  ever  of  its  scope  ; 

For  Faith's  lone  lamp  that  pales, 

Still  raised  above  the  dark 

Lone  wat'ry  waste  ;  for  Love  that  finds  no  ark, 

Bnt  still  with  patient  breast 

Broods  on  nntil  its  nest 

Is  fill'd  with  wint'ry  flakes  of  cold  despair  ; 

For  Christ  that  still  delayeth  ; 

For  Life  that  still  gainsayeth 

The  spirit's  trust ;  for  dark  despair  that  sayeth. 

'  Where  is  the  promise  of  His  coming  ?  where 

The  answer  to  thy  prayer  ?  ' 
Behold,  the  heavens  are  strong,  all  things  remain 
As  they  have  been  at  first,  and  hope  is  vain." 
"  A  time  of  svjeejjing  rains,  of  bitter  grief 
Tlie  deius  lie  thiclc  on  earth,  and.  red.  the  blighted  leaf.'' 


DESDIGHADO. 

"\T  7EEP  not  for  them  who  vr 

*  "      For  Mend  or  lover  taken  hence,  for  child 
That  falls  'mid  early  flowers  and  grass  asleep. 
Untempted,  tmdehlecL 

Mourn  not  for  them  that  mourn 

dn'fl  keen  arrow  with  its  rankling  smart, 
God's  hand  will  bind  again  what  He  hath  torn. 
He  heals  the  broken  heart. 

But  weep  for  him  whose  eve 
Sees  in  the  midnight  skies  a  starry  dome 
Thick  sown  with  worlds  that  whirl  and  hurry  by. 
And  give  the  heart  no  home : 

Who  hears  amid  the  dense 
Loud  trampling  crash  and  outcry  of  this  wild 
Thick  jungle  world  of  drear  magnifies 
'oice  which  says,  mj  child : 


22  DESDICHADO. 

Who  marks  through  earth  and  space 
A  strange  dumb  pageant  pass  before  a  vacant  shrine. 
And  feels  within  his  inmost  soul  a  place 
Unfill'd  by  the  Divine  ; 

Weep,  weep,  for  him,  above 
That  looks  for  God,  and  sees  unpitying  Fate, 
That  finds  within  his  heart,  in  place  of  love, 
A  dull,  unsleeping  hate. 


CCELO   TEGITUR   QUI   NON  HABET 
UBBTAM. 

La  colombe  demande  un  petit  nid  bien  clos;  le  cadavre  un 
tombe,  et  fame  le  paradis." — From  a  Breton  tone. 


I 


N  Spring  the  green  leaves  shoot, 
In  Spring  the  blossoms  fall, 
With  Summer  falls  the  fruit, 
The  leaves  in  Autumn  fall, 
Contented  from  the  bough 
They  drop,  leaves,  blossoms  now, 
And  ripen'd  fruit ;  the  warm  earth  takes  them  all. 

Thus  all  things  ask  for  rest, 
A  home  above,  a  home  beneath  the  sod ; 
The  sun  will  seek  the  west, 
The  bird  will  seek  its  nest, 
The  heart  another  breast 
WTiereon  to  lean,  the  spirit  seeks  its  God. 


24  CCELO   TEGITUR 


Oh !  mourn  not  that  no  tear 
Should  fall  upon  thy  tomb, 
That  through  the  grasses  sere 
No  loving  footstep  here 
Should  wear  a  pathway  'mid  the  deepening  gloom. 

For,  when  thou  livedst,  none 
Would  watch  thy  step  to  greet, 
And  when  thou  wouldst  be  gone, 
Thy  parting  look  to  meet, 
No  soft,  beseeching  eye, 
No  fond,  half- smother' d  sigh 
With  sweet  arrest  would  bid  thee  linger  on. 

Of  all  thou  lovedst  well, 
Who  is  there  that  will  spare 
An  hour  from  joy,  from  care, 
Beside  thy  grave  to  tell 
Love's  slow  sweet  beads  that  ceaseless  fall  one  after 
one — the  knell 


QUI  NON  HABET   URN  AM.  25 

That  toll'd  for  thee  awoke 
Kind,  gentle  words,  they  spoke 
Of  thee  awhile,  bnt  from  his  pillow  none 
Awoke  with  sudden  start 
To  feel  through  all  the  heart, 
And  all  the  world's  dim  space  and  find  thee  gone. 

All  that  for  thee  was  meant 
Was  given,  and  all  is  spent ; 
A  little  love  was  thine,  a  little  grief ; 
How  quickly  dries  the  brief 
Sweet  tear,  the  loosen'd  leaf, 
How  light  it  falls  to  earth  and  well  content ! 


O^X 


Peace  upon  earth  I  found 

And  gave  ;  with  all  around 

Sweet  peace  was  mine,  calm  greetings  met  me  still, 

Peace,  peace,  and  evermore  this  same  good- will ; 

Yet  now  methinks  with  sound 

More  sweet,  a  Voice  is  calling  from  the  ground. 


26  CCELO    TEGITUR 

By  clear  and  shallow  streams, 

My  steps  were  led,  my  spirit  at  no  urn 

Was  fed,  but  still  for  fuller  draughts  would  yearn, 

From  deeper  founts,  and  evermore  my  dreams 

Brought  the  wide  ocean  in  its  flashing  gleams. 

I  sang  in  shelter' d  bowers, 
Shut  in  from  danger  and  from  sin,  yet  gloom 
Hung  o'er  the  heavy  leaves,  until  a  tomb 
The  garden  seem'd,  and  oft  I  saw  the  Hours 
Pass  sadly,  slowly  by,  though  told  by  flowers  ; 

And  sweet  those  flowers,  but  lo  ! 

Methinks  they  once  did  grow 

On  wild-wood  banks  remote  !  this  very  soil 

Whereon  they  spread,  with  toil 

Was  brought  to  raise  their  bright  exotic  glow. 

What  bloom  is  this  that  lends 

To  air  no  fragrance,  unto  earth  no  fruit  ? 

What  life  is  this  that  spends 

Its  soul  and  strength  in  keeping  up  the  mute 

Faint  show  of  life,  death  wither'd  at  the  root  ? 


QUI  NON  HABET  VJRNAM.  27 

Thou  Jesu  !  that  of  life 

Art  Lord  and  Giver  !  thou  the  Lord  of  lore  ! 

Now  from  this  deadly  strife, 

This  deadly  calm  above, 

I  pass  to  thee,  far  other  joys  to  prove. 

Oh !  open  to  me  wide 

The  gates  of  death,  of  life  that  I  may  be 

Among  the  dead,  among  the  living  free ; 

Free,  free  to  soar  and  sing, 

To  spread  my  soul's  glad  wing, 

To  shed  my  spirit's  hoarded  fragraney  ! 


At  noon-tide  came  a  voice  "  Thou  must  away  ; 
Hast  thou  some  look  to  give,  some  word  to  say, 
Or  hear,  of  fond  farewell,"  I  answered,  "  Xay, 

My  soul  hath  said  its  farewell  long  ago, 

How   light,  when   Summer  comes,    the   loosened 

snow, 
Slides  from  the  hills  !  yet  tell  me,  irfxere  I  go, 


28  CCELO    TEGITUR. 

Both  any  wait  for  me?"  Then  like  the  clear 
Full  drops  of  summer  rain  that  seem  to  cheer 
The  skies  they  fall  from,  soft  within  mine  ear, 

And  slow,  as  if  to  render  through  that  sweet 
Delay  a  blest  assurance  more  complete, 
"  Yea,"  only  "  yea,"  was  whisper'd  me,  and  then 
A  silence  that  was  unto  it,  Amen. 

"  Doth  any  love  me  there,"  I  said,  "  or  mark 
Within  the  dull,  cold  flint  the  fiery  spark 
One  moment  flashing  out  into  the  dark  ? 

"  My  spirit  glow'd,  yet  burn'd  not  to  a  clear, 
Warm,  steadfast  flame,  to  lighten  or  to  cheer ;" 
The  sweet  voice  said,  "  By  things  which  do  appear 

We  judge  amiss.    The  flower  which  wears  its  way 
Through  stony  chinks,  lives  on  from  day  to  day, 
Approved  for  living,  let  the  rest  be  gay 

And  sweet  as  Summer !    Heaven  within  the  reed 
Lists  for  the  flute-note,  in  the  folded  seed 
It  sees  the  bud,  and  in  the  Will  the  Deed." 


OH,  AMIABLE,  LOVELY  DEATH! 

"  r  I  ^HE  Spring  was  cold  and  tardy;  with  the 

•*■  Summer  came  a  lingering  blight ;  now  it 
is  Autumn  the  flowers  bloom. 

"From  the  garden  rises  a  heavy  odour,  the  scent 
of  flowers  or  of  wine  ;  is  it  of  the  rose  ?  "  "  Xo 
she  is  long  ago  faded." 

"It  is  of  the  clove,  that  says,  ' Love  was  given 
me  for  a  treasure ;  I  guarded  it  well,  and  lo,  it  has 
broken  my  heart.' " 

"  Are  these  the  trailing  wreaths  of  the  wood- 
bine, the  wood-bine  warm  and  dusk  as  a  night 
of  summer  that  crept  through  and  through  the 
blossomed  hedge-rows,  wooing  the  sweet-brier  to 
her  clasp  ?  " 

"  These  are  the  tendrils  of  the  passion-flower, 
dim  of  hue  and  scentless,  the  passion-flower  that 
loves  but  does  not  woo ;  she  carries  in  her  heart 
the  tokens  of  an  eternal  torture." 


30  OH,   AMIABLE,  LOVELY  DEATH! 

"What  is  this  fair  blossom  that  floats  downward 
so  lightly?  did  it  fall  from  the  almond-scented 
hawthorn  that  the  children  loitered  in  the  lanes 
to  gather  ?  they  brought  it  home  in  boughs  and 
garlands." 

"  It  fell  from  the  death-struck  jessamine, 
loosened  from  its  dark  foliage ;  wouldst  thou  carry 
its  spray  in  thy  hand,  or  wear  it  awhile  on  thy 
bosom  ?  the  flowers  drop  to  earth  like  falling  stars. 

"  Yet  thou  art  fair,  my  garden ;  bloom,  bloom 
out  thy  little  hour,  soon  the  Winter  comes. 

"  Let  the  sworded  lilies,  blood-red,  death-pale, 
flash  in  the  broad  light  of  noon,  and  let  the  sun- 
flower droop  upon  its  golden  stalk." 


I  heard  a  sound  as  of  a  parting  that  was  all  but 
eternal,  of  sobs  and  of  farewell  kisses,  and  through 
them  all  went  a  sigh  so  deep  that  no  other  sigh 
could  follow  it. 

I  saw  a  tear  gather  slowly  beneath  a  darkening 


OH,   AMIABLE,   LOVELY  DEATH!  31 

eyelid ;  but  before  it  fell,  it  was  wiped  away  by 
the  hand  of  God. 

The  spirit  hung  for  a  moment  aboYe  the  clay  it 
was  deserting ;  it  was  free,  it  was  happy,  yet  love 
and  pity  enchained  it  still. 

How  close,  how  kind  were  the  kisses  it  left 
upon  that  ashen  cheek  and  lip  and  forehead. 
They  spoke  of  things  that  it  is  not  possible  for 
life  to  utter. 

They  murmured,  Oh,  how  much  have  we 
endured  together  !  each  suffering  we  have  made 
each  other  suffer ;  our  existence  was  but  a  mutual 
wrong. 

Close,  close  as  was  the  bond  that  joined  us 
there  was  one  that  ever  came  between ;  there  was 
one  with  us  that  was  nearer  than  sleep,  than  love, 
than  prayer. 

It  was  pain  that  watched  beside  us  while  we 
slept  unsleeping,  that  made  haste  to  wake  before 
our  waking,  withering  up  delight  and  love. 

Pain,  that  wove  itself  between  us  in  fiery  links 
and  meshes ;  our  ring,  our  chain,  our  troth-plight 
of  union ;  often  but  for  pain,  we  knew  not  that 
we  indeed  lived. 


32  OH,   AMIABLE,  LOVELY  DEATH'. 

A  mighty  one  hath  broken  its  fetters  ;  the 
king  hath  sent  and  delivered  ns ;  the  prince  of  the 
people  hath  bid  ns  be  free  ; 

We  are  free,  yet  we  are  still  nnited,  oh,  my  com- 
panion, thhikest  thou  that  I  do  not  love  thee  still  ? 

Once  again  shall  I  behold  thee  ;  fair  shalt  thou 
be  and  yonng,  beloved  and  desired  of  all;  but 
nnto  none  wilt  thon  be  so  fair  as  nnto  me. 

Then  pure  and  swift  shall  I  rush  to  greet  thee, 
I  shall  dwell  within  thee  for  ever,  as  the  flame 
shut  within  the  glancing  opal,  as  the  perfume 
within  the  bell  of  the  hyacinth ;  we  shall  be  one 
in  beauty  and  in  joy. 

Slowly  in  the  still  air  of  eternity  shall  we 
unfold  together.  Ages  upon  ages  are  too  short 
to  sum  up  our  perfect  bliss. 

But  now  I  go  to  rest  within  the  smile  of  Grod, 
sunshine  shall  be  given  me  for  a  garment. 

Yea,  in  me  there  is  now  no  darkness,  gaze  down 
within  me,  I  am  pure,  a  well  springing  up  unto 
everlasting  life. 

Give  thou  thyself  meanwhile  to  the  earth's 
dark  bosom,  scatter  thyself  upon  the  winds  of 
heaven,  melt  in  the  beaded  bubble  and  glitter  in 
the  fiery  6park. 


OH,  AMIABLE,  LOVELY  DEATH!  33 

Whirl  and  scream  with  the  white  sea-fowl,  and 
mount  with  them  upon  the  eddying  wave ;  speak 
in  the  dark  thunder  of  waters  roaring  to  their 
mighty  fall. 

Dance  with  the  motes  in  the  slanting  sunbeam, 
star  thyself  in  the  glittering  crystal,  live  awhile  in 
the  seed,  in  the  flower,  in  the  fading  leaf,  in  the 
countless  blossoms  of  the  apple-tree,  in  the  mea- 
dow-sweets' foam-white  plume. 

Hide  thyself  among  the  thick-springing  blades 
of  grass,  amid  the  hot  drifting  desert  sands,  so 
shalt  thou  escape  Pain  that  hath  hunted  and 
tracked  thee  still. 

But  come  to  me  sometimes  in  the  evening  ;  sing 
thy  clear  song  of  victory  and  undying  love. 

Sing  to  me  when  the  shadows  lengthen,  a  little 
brown  bird  that  bears  upon  its  breast  a  ruddy  stain. 

And  I  will  lean  out  of  Heaven  and  hearken,  I 
will  hear  thee  from  among  the  harps  of  gold. 

^^^^ 

The  summer  is  over  and  the  harvest  ended,  the 
songs  of  the  vintage  cease ; 

D 


34  OH,  AMIABLE,  LOVELY  DEATH! 

Yet  before  I  die  will  I  chant  my  solemn  death- 
stave  ;  let  the  woods  be  silent  while  I  sing. 

Royally  they  stand  np  round  me,  they  gleam  in 
gold  and  in  scarlet,  robed  in  the  purple  to  which 
they  were  not  born. 

But  the  baptism  of  death  is  on  them,  they  have 
been  signed  with  a  fiery  sign. 

Yet  another  day  and  their  boughs  will  be  stark 
and  leafless;  sing  through  them,  thou  wild  re- 
joicing wind. 

I  have  asked  little  of  earth,  and  that  little  has 
been  still  denied  me ;  now  that  I  must  leave  her 
she  gives  me  all. 

A  robe  hast  thou  fashioned  for  me,  oh,  my 
mother  !  smooth  and  green  and  fine  is  it  as  satin, 
it  is  woven  without  seam  throughout. 

Fair  is  it  and  richly  broidered,  from  my  head 
even  to  my  feet  it  shall  enfold  me  closely  as 
the  clasp  of  a  loving  hand. 

So  that  pain  shall  not  glide  within  it,  though  it 
be  lithe  and  searching  as  the  cold  fanged  snake, 
desire,  nor  weariness,  nor  vain  regret ;  this  garment 
is  unfretted  by  the  moth. 

And  when  my  mother  puts  this  fair  robe  upon 
me,  she  will  press  me  to  her  bosom,  oh,  so  closely  ! 


OH,  AMIABLE,   LOVELY  DEATH!  35 

That  there  will  be  no  space  left  between  us  any 
more  for  anguish,  no  room  for  the  dull  unceasing 
pang. 

No  chiding  word  will  pass  between  us,  she  will 
take  me  to  the  chambers  where  all  her  children 
sleep  ;  quiet  are  they,  deep  and  full  of  slumber. 

None  watch  over  those  sleepers,  yet  is  their  rest 
unbroken  ;  no  wail  is  there,  no  echo  of  song  or 
of  laughter,  but  a  silence  that  is  sweeter  than  all. 

I  shall  not  dream  there,  neither  shall  I  lie 
wakeful,  listening  for  a  footfall  to  break  the 
stillness,  or  for  a  voice  that  might  repeat  my 
name. 

If  the  bird  sing  above  me  I  shall  not  hear  it, 
nor  heed  if  the  dews  fall  sweetly  and  the  early 
flowers  spring. 

For  the  heavens  shall  be  clear  above  me,  clear 
to  their  very  depths,  without  cloud  or  stain ; 

Terrible  in  their  clearness  even  as  the  burning 
sapphire,  I  shall  look  up  through  them  to  the 
throne  of  God. 

Light  shall  be  spread  round  me  like  a  garment, 
but  from  the  heavens  a  tear  will  fall, 

A  tear  will  fall  upon  my  bosom,  one  tear  from 
His  eye  that  wept  over  the  grave  of  Lazarus. 


36  OH,   AMIABLE,   LOVELY  DEATH: 


Very  excellent  things  are  spoken  of  thee,  thou 
city  of  God  !  far,  far  across  the  desert  have  I  seen 
thy  fringe  of  lofty  palms,  and  above  them  thy 
glittering  domes  and  spires. 

And  my  sonl  hath  desired  thee  exceedingly ; 
yea,  I  have  longed  to  enter  within  thy  courts,  but 
not  because  of  the  scent  of  thine  ivory  palaces, 
raftered  with  the  fragrant  cedar  ; 

Nor  yet  for  the  murmur  of  thy  clear  fountains, 
nor  the  shadow  of  thy  pleasant  trees,  yielding 
fruits  of  healing  and  desire  ; 

Nor  to  listen  to  the  songs  of  the  angels,  or 
to  the  sweeter  voice  that  I  once  loved  so  well 
on  earth  ; 

Not  to  look  upon  the  face  of  lover  or  of  Mend 
departed,  nor  upon  Thine,  Jesus,  beloved  of  God 
and  of  men  ! 

Yea,  let  me  hear  thy  voice,  for  it  is  sweet,  and 
let  me  look  upon  thy  countenance,  for  it  is 
comely :  yet  is  there  One  unfound,  desired  above 
all! 


OH,  AMIABLE,   LOVELY  DEATH!  37 

Him,  whom  I  have  sought  unceasingly,  my 
Father,  whom  I  have  sought  and  have  not  found. 

Pleasure  hath  not  held  me  back  from  Thee,  oh 
my  Father;  but  pain,  disquietude,  and  restless 
doubt. 

Like  a  child  bewildered  in  an  untracked  forest, 
because  I  lieard  not  Thy  voice,  I  ivas  afraid. 

What  though  my  feet  sank  deep  in  brown, 
golden  mosses,  and  from  the  boughs  above  me 
hung  ropes  of  gorgeous  flowers  ? 

"What  availed  the  dusk  splendours  of  the  moth 
that  flitted  across  my  solitary  path,  or  the  glory 
of  the  crested  bird  that  lighted  up  the  wood's 
dim  heart  with  flame  ? 

When  it  was  my  Father's  voice  I  needed,  His 
kind  re-assuring  eye  I  sought.  My  Father's  hand 
laid  upon  my  head  to  bless  me,  His  hand  that 
took  my  own  within  its  guiding  clasp. 

These  things  that  He  hath  fashioned  are  fair 
and  wondrous,  but  strength  is  a  pitiless  giant, 
and  skill  is  a  dumb  artificer,  and  beauty  hath 
but  a  cold,  alluring  smile. 

There  is  one  that  is  more  great  than  these,  the 
Father,  whose  Name  is  Love. 


38  OH,  AMIABLE,  LOVELY  DEATH! 

Strong  is  He,  yet  patient  and  pitiful,  a  Creator 
to  whom  nothing  lives  in  vain. 

In  my  heart  hath  He  traced  His  image,  in  my 
bosom  is  there  a  mirror  hid. 

To  glass  back  His  likeness  in  perfection,  I  held 
it  up  to  the  earth  and  sky. 

But  it  flashed  and  shivered  into  a  thousand 
fragments,  how  should  it  give  back  my  Father's 
smile  ? 

In  the  world  which  He  had  made  was  beauty  ; 
anguish  also,  and  discord,  irony,  haste,  and  bitter 
incompletion. 

The  dove  moaned  softly  in  the  woodland,  and 
through  the  thicket  gleamed  the  rustling  snake  ; 
the  leopard  was  as  lovely  as  the  fawn. 

In  the  "Word  which  He  had  spoken  was  terror ; 
the  sword  and  the  mountain  that  burned  with  fire, 
clouds  and  hailstones  and  thick  darkness,  the 
light  of  the  arrow,  and  the  shining  of  the  glit- 
tering spear. 

The  Lord  is  a  man  of  war,  the  Lord  of  Battles 
is  His  Name. 

Yet  hath  He  sent  us  His  beloved  Son,  to  show 
us  plainly  of  the  Father.     Jesus,  Thy  deeds  were 


OH,   AMIABLE,  LOVELY  DEATH!  39 

gentle,  yet  who  hath  spoken  words  so  austere  as 
Thine? 

Thon  hast  told  us  of  utter  separation,  Thou  hast 
shown  us  a  place  where  the  tear  falls  in  vain. 

And  yet  Thou  didst  teach  us  to  say,  Our 
Father,  Our  Fatlier  tohich  art  in  Heaven. 

Therefore  have  I  sought  a  city;  a  city  that 
needeth  not  the  sun  to  lighten  it,  for  its  light  is 
the  light  of  God. 

Yea,  though  that  light  were  sevenfold,  I  shall 
feel  through  it  all  a  searching  ray ; 

And  I  shall  know  that  my  Father's  smile  has 
reached  me ;  I  shall  hear  a  voice,  that  says  to  me, 
"  My  child." 

Ox  my  heart  hath  a  thought  fallen,  making  all 
the  waters  of  earth  bitter. 

I  saw  Youth  stand  up,  strong  and  lovely,  and 
on  its  lips  was  a  word  of  promise, 

A  word  that  should  overcome  all  things ;  but  to 
what  child  of  Adam  hath  the  promise  of  that 
word  been  kept  ? 

And  if  in  life  there  is  decay  and  harsh  illusion, 


40  OH,  AMIABLE,  LOVELY  DEATH! 

why  should  we  look  to  death  to  be  more  just, 
and  kind  ? 

Why  should  God's  faithfulness  be  made  known 
in  the  grave,  or  his  loving-kindness  shown  in  the 
land  where  all  things  are  forgotten  ? 

On  earth  is  hate  and  discord,  and  we  say  these 
things  are  but  for  a  day,  but  if  for  a  day  ivhy  not 
for  ever  ? 

If  light  reigned  would  it  endure  the  darkness 
even  for  a  moment  ?  and  if  love  is  vanquished 
now,  why  should  we  deem  that  it  shall  triumph 
hereafter  ? 

Humanity  stands  up  in  strength  and  anguish ; 
a  blind  giant  wrapt  in  an  envenomed  mantle. 

It  struggles,  but  it  is  not  freed ;  it  strides  on 
hastily,  age  after  age,  yet  it  comes  not  nearer  its 


In  the  universe,  there  is  care  and  love  abroad, 
the  traces  of  a  fashioning  and  guiding  hand. 

The  pink  sea-shell  is  flushed  with  beauty,  warm, 
rose-tinted,  myriad-hued,  a  chamber  for  exquisite 
delight. 

The  flower  of  the  field  is  happy,  it  needs 
neither  shelter  nor  love, 


OH,  AMIABLE,   LOVELY  DEATH'.         41 

For  it  is  at  peace  with  all  around  it,  with  the 
dews,  the  sunshine,  with  the  earth's  dark  kindly 
breast. 

Things  unbeloved  are  safe  and  cared  for  ;  the 
limpet  fastens  upon  the  storm-beaten  rock,  the 
moss  and  the  lichen  seek  out  the  grey  desolate 
wall. 

Bnt  the  life  that  was  formed  for  love  and  joy  is 
blighted,  and  the  heart  of  man  wanders  and  hath 
not  found  its  home. 


^econo  part 


M  £oti  forbiu  tljat  J\  sfjouIU  cjlorp,  sate  in  tf?e  cross  of 
our  Horn  Sfesus  Christ,  bp  toljom  tf?e  toortt)  10  crucifies 
unto  me,  arm  3  unto  tlje  toorlu." — Galatians  vi.  14. 


L'ENVOI. 

My  root  of  life  is  in  Thy  grave, 
This  flower  that  blooms  above 
I  have  no  care  to  keep  or  save, 
Its  hues  are  dim,  its  stay  is  brief, 
I  know  not  if  its  name  be  grief, 
Oh  !  let  it  pass  for  Love. 

Oh  !  let  it  pass  for  Love,  dear  Lord, 
And  lift  it  from  Thy  tomb, 
A  little  while  upon  Thy  breast 
To  yield  its  scent  and  bloom  ; 
In  life,  in  dying  to  be  blest 
It  needs  but  little  room  ! 


A   PASTORAL. 

A      SIMPLE  shepherd  I, 
■**•  Unskill'd  to  guard  or  tend 

My  flocks  that  wander  slow, 
But  little  prized  by  friend, 

But  little  feared  by  foe  ; 

Yet  sweet  and  many  are  the  songs  I  know. 

In  youth  no  gentle  art 
Was  mine  to  learn  or  teach  ; 
As  shepherds  wont,  my  speech 
Was  rude,  unapt  to  reach 

The  ear,  or  win  the  heart, 
Till,  where  moist  willows  grew,  a  slender  reed 
I  found,  and  fashion'd  fitly  to  my  need. 

Then  from  the  sedgy  brook, 
Where  yet  its  kindred  shook, 
A  sigh  so  deep,  so  sweet,  so  piercing  broke, 


46  A   PASTORAL. 

That  ere  I  knew,  a  sigh. 
Went  back  in  fond  reply, 
And  on  my  lips  a  sudden  song  awoke. 

With  each  warm  tender  thing 

That  thrust  its  head  in  spring, 
From  earth's  dark  breast,  my  spirit  communed  free ; 

A  soul  that  loves  and  grieves 

Would  speak  from  out  the  leaves, 
The  clouds  stole  down  the  hills  to  talk  with  me. 

And  oft  with  unconfess'd 

Fond  instinct,  only  guess' d, 
Through  some  quick  pressure,  all  the  silent  air, 

The  while  I  sang,  would  fill 

With  light,  would  throb  and  thrill 
As  if  a  mighty  heart  were  beating  there. 

And  while  I  sang,  the  swains 
That  listen' d,  straight  forgot 

How  fierce  upon  the  plains 
The  sun,  the  shepherd's  lot 

How  hard — their  slender  gains, 
Their  ceaseless,  thankless  toils,  remembering  not. 


A   PASTORAL.  4; 

And  while  I  sang,  the  maid 

On  tiptoe  nnafraid 
Would  steal  at  shut  of  eve,  and  linger  long, 

With  parted  lips,  and  shy 

Sweet,  unaverted  eye, 
Forgetting  still  the  singer  in  the  song. 

I  sang  of  war,  of  love, 

Of  gods  that  reign  above 
In  bliss,  of  men  that  suffer — still  I  sung 

Of  deeper  pangs,  of  tears 

More  sweet,  that  fell  in  years 
Of  broader  flight,  while  yet  our  earth  was  young. 

So  sang  I  until  song 
Forsook  me  ;  I  would  tell 
How  this  my  strain  so  well 

Beloved,  beloved  so  long, 
Fell  from  my  lips,  as  falls  the  star, 

As  falls  the  leaf,  to  dwell 
(If  yet  it  lives)  apart,  afar 

Like  echo  shut  within  a  secret  dell. 

It  was  the  summer  prime 
Of  noon,  the  sleeping  time 


4<  .4    PASTORAL. 

Of  Pan,  no  leaflet  stirrd.  ret  from  the  ground 

Whereon  I  lay,  the  clear 

Low  breathing  met  mine  ear 
Of  woods,  rocks,  vales,  and  hills  in  slumber  bound. 

And  on  the  air  a  slow 

Sweet  shining  now  would  grow. 
And  o'er  the  sunny  spaces  flit  and  fail. 

As  if  beloved  and  fair, 

Earth  softly,  unaware. 
Smiled  'neath  the  secret  of  her  folded  veil. 

Beneath  the  beechen  shade 

The  golden  sunbeams  stray' d 
In  sleep,  my  flock  slept  round  me,  all  was  still : 

When  from  afar  I  caught 

A  flute's  clear  note,  methought 
Some  shepherd  bids  me  to  a  contest  of  sweet  skill. 

It  ceased,  and  at  its  close 

A  Voice  in  song  arose, 
So  sword-like  sweet,  it  seem'd  to  cleave  the  thin 

Warm  air,  and  still,  with  soft 

Delay,  to  question  oft, 
And  still  to  woo,  and  evermore  to  win. 


A    PASTORAL.  49 

This  was  no  ancient  tale 
Of  flying  nymph,  or  bold 
Free  hunter,  this  no  old 

F :  nd  funereal  wail 
For  Youth  slow  fading  by  a  fountains  side 

And  yet  a  high  lament 

Through  all  its  chani- 
It  told  of  One  that  loved,  it  told  of  One  that  died. 

It  told  of  rude  disgrace, 

And  of  an  anguish'd  face 
It  told,  methonght ;  and  of  a  wounded  Friend. 

Of  pain  it  told,  and  shan 

Of  love  that  overcame 
Through  simple  skill  of  loving  to  the  end. 

A  silence  on  the  plain, 

A  ~  Hence  on  the  hill. 
To  hear  that  song  again, 

I  I;  rii  still. 

Oh,  street  to  me  my  v 

Old  songs  and  stories  free, 
Th  1  and  plain 

Is  now  more  s~eet  to  me. 


50  A  PASTORAL. 

Take,  Shepherd,  take  thy  prize, 

For  who  like  thee  can  sing  ? 
No  fleece  of  mingled  dyes, 

No  apples  fair,  I  bring  ; 
No  smooth  two-handled  bowl, 

Wrought  with  the  clasping  vine- 
Take,  take  my  heart  and  soul, 

My  songs,  for  they  are  thine  ! 

Oh  !  sing  thy  song  again, 

And  these  of  mine  may  pass 
As  quick  as  summer  rain 

Dries  on  the  thirsty  grass. 
Thou  wouldst  not  do  me  wrong, 

Thou  wilt  not  silent  be  ; 
Thy  one,  thy  only  song, 

Dear  Shepherd,  teach  to  me  ! 


A  MYSTERY. 

"Ego  autem  dico  in  Christo  et  in  Ecclesia." 

A  BIRD  sings  clear  within  the  darkling  wood  ; 
Sing  sweet,  oh  bird,  though  wounded  be  thy 
breast ; 
Although  thy  song  of  few  be  understood, 
A  song  of  love  is  thine — a  song  of  rest. 

A  rose  beneath  it  blooms — a  rose  unfed 
By  earthly  mould,  unnourish'd  by  the  dew, 
Yet  rich  the  rose's  fragrance,  ruby  red 
In  every  leaf,  as  if  its  heart  burn'd  through. 

And  when  the  bird  is  silent,  then  the  rose 
Gives  forth  no  odour,  yields  no  light  nor  bloom — 
Death- stricken  pale,  its  petals  shrink  and  close, 
And  all  the  air  grows  silent  as  a  tomb. 


52 


A    MYSTERY. 


And  when  the  bird  sings  clearest  most  it  grieves 
O'er  its  deep  wound ;  then  from  its  heart  o'erflows 
A  crimson  drop,  that  on  the  rose's  leaves 
Falls  with  the  song,  then  sweetest  is  the  rose. 


QUIS  SEPARABIT? 

■      AM  no  warrior.     Lo, 
-*■      What  skill  have  hands  like  mine  the  sword  to 

wield  ? 
A  singer  of  old  songs,  I  wander  slow 
By  many  a  haunted  stream,  by  many  a  field ; 
Where,  stooping  down,  I  yet  can  hear  the  low 
Hoarse  battle  murmur  ring  from  lance  and  shield. 
Amid  thick  woods  I  stray,  where  long  ago 
Fond  lovers  met ;  and  oft  a  darker  thrill 
Steals  from  some  spot  whereon  no  grasses  grow, 
No  kind  rains  fall,  no  breezes  lightly  blow. 
Enough  of  love,  enough  of  grief,  I  know, 
Enough  of  crime !     Earth's  story  chains  me  still. 
What  marvel,  then,  that  me  a  cruel  foe 
Should  track  from  grove  to  stream  with  stealthy 
skill? 


H  QUIS  SEPARAB1T? 

What  marvel,  then,  that  on  the  waters'  flow 
Strange  sounds  should  rise  to  me  instinct  with  ill  ? 
Strange  aspects  gleam  from  out  the  wood,  and  low 
And  mocking  voices  reach  me  from  the  hill  ? 
I  was  not  strong  to  fight,  nor  swift  to  fly, 
Oh  !  let  me  reach  the  mountain  or  I  die  ! 
But  as  I  cross 'd  a  level  plain  the  air 
Grew  still  as   death  ;   the   singing  lark    dropp'd 

mute 
Beside  the  daisy  wither' d  to  its  root. 
Then  came  an  ice-cold  wind,  and  suddenly 
The  storm  brake  forth ;  then  saw  I  lifted  high 
The  Cross  stand  bare  between  the  darken'd  sky 
And  pallid  earth ;  as  close  as  can  despair 
I  clasp'd  my  arms  about  it. 

Here  I  die. 
I  know  these  slinging  shafts,  these  darts  of  fire, 
That  mingle  with  the  arrowy  sleet  and  hail. 
Here  hast  thou  found  me,  oh,  mine  enemy  ! 
And  yet  rejoice  not  thou,  by   strength  shall  none 
prevail. 

By  noon  thine  arrows  fly  ; 


QUIS  SEPARABIT?  55 

Xone  faileth  of  its  mark  ;  thou  dost  not  tire ; 

And  vet  rejoice  not  thou  !     Each  shaft  of  fire 

That  finds  me  here  becomes  a  living  nail. 

What  strength  of  thine,  what  skill  can  now  avail 

To  tear  me  from  the  Cross  ?     My  soul  and  heart 

Are  fasten'd  here  !     I  feel  the  cloven  dart 

Pierce  keenly  through.     What  hands  have  power 

to  wring 
Me  hence  ?     What  voice  can  now  so  sweetly  sing 
To  lure  my  spirit  from  its  rest  ?     Oh  !   now 

Rejoice,  my  soul,  for  thou 
Hast  trodden  down  thy  foeman's  strength  through 

pain. 

Who  speaketh  now  of  peace  ? 

Who  seeketh  for  release  ? 
The  Cross  is  strength,  the  solemn  Cross  is  gain, 

The  Cross  is  Jesu's  breast, 

Here  giveth  He  the  rest 
That  to  His  best  belov'd  doth  still  remain. 


How  sweet  an  ended  strife  ! 
How  sweet  a  dawninsr  life  ! 


56  QUIS  SEP AR ABIT? 

Here  will  I  lie  as  one  that  draws  his  breath 
With  ease,  and  hearken  what  my  Saviour  saith 
Concerning  me  ;  the  solemn  Cross  is  gain  ; 

Who  willeth  now  to  choose  ? 

Who  strives  to  bind  or  loose  ? 
Sweet  life,  sweet  death,  sweet  triumph  and  sweet 
pain. 


THE  CROSS. 

TT  THAT  came  ye  forth  to  see? 

*   »       TJie  desert  paths  are  drear ; 
TJie  desert  air  is  still, 

What  came  ye  forth  to  hear  ? 
A  v:hisper  ''mid  tlie  reeds, 
Or  voice  of  one  that  pleads, 
Persuading  soft,  or  prophet 's  voice  austere  ?" 

"  I  came  not  forth  to  look 

For  prophet  or  for  seer, 
For  word  from  lip  or  book 

I  wait  not,  waiting  here  ; 
Where  neither  speech  nor  voice 
Is  heard,  my  spirit's  choice 
Abides,  for  nnto  me 
The  Lord  hath  show'd  a  Tree." 


58  THE   CROSS. 

"  What  wouldst  tliou  with  this  tree, 

Bare,  leafless,  gaunt  ?     On  thee 

It  drops  no  tendril  now, 

It  stretches  forth  no  hough. 
Behold  the  woods,  the  summer  woods  are  fair  ; 

On  Lebanon  the  oak 

Stands  with  its  heart  unbrohe 
In  giant  strength ;  what  green  leaves  tremble  ilwre  ! 

The  very  gourd  that  springs 
And  dies  ivithin  a  day, 

Will  spread  its  fan-like  icings 
To  shade  thee  while  it  may; 
The  rose  is  sweet  ere  yet  it  pass  away, 
The  lily  blooms  and  fades  in  still  decay. 

"  Thou  lovest  ivell  the  slow 
Sweet  lapse  of  running  ivaters  o'er  the  stone, 

The  song  of  birds  at  early  mom,  the  low 
Light,  ruffling  tvinds ;  whatfindst  thou  here  ?  a  moan ; 

What  hearest  thou?  a  sigh 

Half  utter9  d,  Hwixt  the  shy 
And  earth,  from  age  to  age  that  seems  to  die. 

"  No  bird  upon  this  tree 
Will  sit  and  sing  to  thee ; 


THE   CROSS.  59 

No  flower  will  spring  beneath;  all  hurry  by 

That  pass  this  place ;  the  vine 

No  cluster  yields,  for  wine 
None  ask,  and  here  the  merry-liearted  sigh'' 


"  Yet  hence  I  will  not  stir ; 

What  healing  gums  distil 
From  ont  this  tree  !  Of  myrrh 
The  mount  is  this,  of  frankincense  the  hill, 
And  all  around  are  fair 
Broad  meads,  with  shepherds  there 
That  feed  and  guard  their  flocks  contented  still. 


"  By  Sinai  long  I  stay'd, 
And  heard  a  voice  that  spake  to  me,  *  This  do, 
And   thou   shalt   live ;'   but   when   more  close   I 

drew, 
I  saw  with  hidden  fire  the  mountain  shake ; 
Upon  the  air  I  heard  the  trumpet  break 

Long,  loud  and  louder  yet ;  what  hope  had  I 
When  even  Moses  said,  '  I  fear  and  quake — 

Let  not  God  speak  unto  me,  lest  I  die  ! ' 


60  THE  CROSS. 

"  To  Tabor  then  I  came. 
How  fair,  methought,  how  pleasant  is  this  place, 
How  green  and  still !     Then,  Jesus,  on  Thy  face 
I  look'd,  and  it  was  comely  ;  full  of  grace 
And  truth  Thy  lips  as  one  whom  Grod  hath  blest. 
Here  then,  methought,  for  ever  I  will  rest, 
Here  will  I  build  my  shrine,  and  pay  my  vows  ; 

But  while  in  sweet  content 

To  pluck  fresh  boughs  I  went, 

Peter  and  James  and  John, 

Yea,  Jesus  too,  had  gone, 
And  I  was  left  amid  the  wither'd  boughs. 

"  At  length  another  place 
I  reach'd  at  noon ;    the  trodden  ground  was  bare  ; 
Of  a  great  multitude  I  saw  the  trace, 
But  all  was  silent  now ;  no  marvel  there 
My  eyes  beheld,  no  law 
I  heard,  no  vision  saw, 
Save  Jesus  only,  Him,  the  Crucified. 
I  saw  my  Lord  that  look'd  on  me  and  died. 

"  Here  will  I  see  the  day 

Pass  by,  the  shadows  creep 


THE   CROSS. 


61 


Aronnd  me  ;  here  I  pray, 
And  here  I  sing  and  weep  ; 
Here  only  will  I  sleep 
And  wake  again  ;  I  keep 
My  watch  beneath  this  tree 
The  Lord  hath  show'd  to  me." 


A   SONG   OF   JOY   AND   PAIN. 

"  I,  the  Lord,  have  brought  down  the  high  tree,  have  e:;alted 
the  low  tree,  have  dried  up  the  green  tree,  and  have  made  the 
dry  tree  to  flourish. *' — Ezekiel  x\\i.  24. 

r  I  AHOU  sign  of  all  our  loss, 
■■■      Thou  sign  of  all  onr  gain, 

0  strange,  sweet,  solemn  cross, 

1  hail  thee  !  and  again 

I  hail  thee  !  here  through  pain 
Joy  breaks,  Love  conquereth, 
And  here  through  bitter  death 
The  Lord  of  life  doth  reign. 

Speak  not  unto  me,  Life  ! 

Thy  voice  that  loves  and  grieves 
I  hear  ;  the  gentle  strife 

Of  birds  among  the  leaves, 
Fond  tones  that  in  their  flow 

Make  sudden  pause  and  grow 


A   SOXG    OF  JOY  AND  PAIN.  63 

To  sweeter  silence  ;  sound  of  summer  rain, 
And  children's  voices  down  the  homeward  lane 

That  pass  ;  prayer's  constant  low 
Sweet  pleading  voice  I  hear ; 

The  blow,  the  scoff,  the  jeer, 
The  curse,  the  maddening  whip,  the  clanking  chain. 

The  bitter  laugh  far  sadder  than  the  tear. 

All  these  alike  are  thine  !  I  know 
Xot  what  thy  language  means,  confused  and  vain  ; 
Now  let  death  talk  with  me,  its  speech  is  plain. 

Now  let  death  speak  with  me,  Thy  death,  my  Grod, 
Thy  words  upon  the  cross  were  plain  and  few  ; 
It  is  my  brother's  blood  that  from  the  sod 
Cries  out  of  better  things  than  Abel's  knew. 
Through  dark  decay  it  pleads,  through  sullen  care : 
It  wins  a  triumph  over  earth's  despair: 
It  turns  to  truth  Life's  failing  prophecy, 
It  tells  us  that  the  Lord  of  Heaven  was  brave 
And  strong,  and  resolute  in  love  to  save 
The  world  that  He  had  made,  yet  could  but  die  ! 

Then  let  me  also  go 
And  die  with  Him  !  why  strive  I  for  this  crown 


64  A   SONG   OF  JOY  AND   PAIN. 

Of  fading  leaves  desired  of  all  below, 
Love,  pleasure,  sweet  content  and  fair  renown  ; 
Why  weep  for  flowers  that  fell  too  soon  to  spread 
And  drink  the  glory  of  the  summer  noon, 
Sweet  buds  of  promise  quickly  withered, 
That  died,  unkiss'd  of  June  ? 

Behold,  my  God  doth  choose 

The  thorn,  the  rose  refuse ; 

Lord  is  He  of  delight 

And  gladness  infinite, 
Yet  hath  he  pluck'd  no  flower  from  all  that  bloom. 
But  in  our  earth's  fair  garden  made  His  tomb. 

Hail,  blessed  Cross  !  how  bold 
Thou  makest  me  !  how  strong  !  no  more  I  weep 
O'er  giant  cities  now  the  dragon's  fold, 
O'er  mighty  empires  breathed  to  dust  away ; 
No  more  a  tearful  chronicle  I  keep 
Of  all  that  passes  ere  our  mortal  day 
Hath  pass'd;  nor  grieve  that  in  earth's  fruitful  deep 
Warm  soil,  my  life  hath  struck  but  slender  hold ; 
All  things  must  change,  and  into  ruin,  cold, 
And  darkness  pass  and  perish,  yet  behold  ! 
All  fades  not  with  the  fading  leaf  !     To  me 

The  Lord  hath  shewed  a  tree  ! 


A   SONG   OF  JOY  AND  PAIN  65 

And  many  a  leaf  on  me 
Hath  fall'n  from  off  this  tree 
Of  healing  power  !  I  know 
Not  jet  how  near  the  skies 
Its  lofty  stem  will  rise  ; 
Nor  guess  how  deep  below 
To  what  drear  vaults  of  woe 
Its  roots  will  pierce  ;  I  see 
Its  boughs  spread  wide  and  free, 
And  fowls1  of  every  wing 
Beneath  them  build  and  cling. 
Hail,  blessed  Cross  !  I  see 
My  life  grow  green  in  thee  ! 
My  life  that  hidden,  mute 
Lives  ever  in  thy  root, 
When  life  fails  utterly ; 
All  hail,  thou  blessed  Tree  ! 


£Huoti  stiiltum  est  Dei,  sapientius  est  tjominitiits : 
<&t  quoD  infirmum  est  Dei,  fortius  est  fjominibus* 


J  Ezekiel  xvii.  23. 


SUMMA   THEOLOGIZE. 


"  In  the  cross  of  Christ  excess  in  man  is  met  by  excess  in 
God ;  excess  of  evil  is  mastered  by  excess  of  love." 

BOURDALOUE. 

\T  OW  let  rue  turn  aside, 

*•  ^     And  look  on  this  great  Sign,  uplifted  high, 

Where  a  broad  river  runs  down  silently 

Until  it  reach  the  white  and  misty  shore, 

Margin  to  unknown  worlds,  where  evermore 

The  deep  sea  moans  and  is  not  satisfied, 

And  life  meets  death  in  marshes  wild  and  wide. 

Above  the  meads  in  May, 
Above  the  summer  gardens  of  delight, 
Above  the  gloomy  forests  where  by  night 
The  fierce  beasts  roam,  and  ask  of  God  their  prey  ; 
Above  the  crowded  city  wild  with  sin, 
Above  the  pleasant  home  by  love  shut  in, 


SUMMA   THEOLOGIZE.  67 

O'er  all  that  blessed,  blesses — all  that  curst 
— Accurses  !  mnte  above  onr  best  and  worst, 
I  see  it  rise,  a  strange,  appealing  sign. 

Its  shadow  falls  upon  a  region  old 
And  wasted  by  the  spoiler  ;  thick  with  graves, 
And  pierced  with  snnless  caverns,  where,  for  gold, 
Slaves  toil  unceasing,  bound  by  stronger  slaves. 
A  land  of  mighty  hunters  ;  he  who  flies 
The  arrow,  lights  upon  the  deadly  snare,— 
The  lash  and  lure  are  theirs,  behind  them  lies 
A  desert  that  was  once  a  garden  fair, 
And  after  them  a  fire  breaks  forth  that  feeds 
On  the  broad  cedars,  on  the  quivering  reeds, 
Fann'd   by  swift  winds    that  sway  its    flickering 

spire  ; 
Yet  would  man  snatch  and  win  life's  goodly  prize, 
Yet  would  he  venture,  conquer,  and  aspire, — 
"Now  will  I  look  upon  my  God  that  dies. 

Enough  of  man's  excess  ! 
His  waste  and  wassail  trampling  out  his  wine, 
With  hasty  heel,  from  youth,  joy,  tenderness, 
Now  will  I  turn,  my  God,  and  look  on  thine 


68  SUMMA    THEOLOGIZE. 

Profuse  wert  Thou  Thy  prodigal  to  bless, 
Nor  hast  Thou  spared  from  out  the  purple  vine 
A  rich,  full-mingled  cap,  to  strain,  and  press, 
And  meet  his  loss  with  usury  divine. 

Now  let  me  turn  my  gaze 
On  Love's  best  archer,  sorely  bitten,  thrown 
Aside  by  all  his  comrades,  through  amaze 
And  anguish  of  his  wound,  to  die  alone ; 
Yet  he,  sore-smitten  archer,  may  not  die ! 
Forsaken,  shunned,  abhorred  and  desolate, 
Yet  shall  his  arrows  win  back  victory, 
His  bow  arrest  a  doubtful  combat's  fate, 
And  lie  shall  conquer  surely,  conquering  late. 

He  saith  to  us,  "  Awhile, 
A  little  while  and  ye  shall  see  me."     Lo! 
On  this  our  earth  quick  bitter  harvests  grow; 
So  must  Love's  patience  slowly  reconcile, 
Pain,  pleasure,  death,  together  banded,  mow, 
And  reap,  nor  care  to  gather  in  their  sheaves,— 
It  is  my  God  alone  who  waits  and  grieves ; 
Slow  is  his  agony,  his  guerdon  slow. 


SUMMA    THEOLOGIZE.  G9 

Yet  for  no  other  sign 
I  ask;  I  read  within  no  other  book, 
When  I  within  my  God's  deep  heart  would  look 
I  turn  not  to  his  earth  nor  heavens  that  shine 
And  burn  from  age  to  age,  yet  speak  no  word : 
Let  my  God  speak  to  me  !  for  I  have  heard 
Strange    voices    on   the    earth,   strange    marvels 

seen; 
While  the  blue,  silent  heavens  look'd  on  serene, 
And  the  white  moon-beam  brought  its  message 

clear, 
Man's  goodly  frame  was  in  the  market  sold 
By  men,  and  woman's  smile  made  cheap  for  gold, 
— Yet  Thou,  oh  God  !  didst  buy  the  soul  more 

dear  ! 

So  let  the  earth  be  old, 
And,  like  a  wicked  Fate,  from  off  her  reel 
Spin  evil  changes, — let  the  skies  in  cold 
Clear  splendour  arch  us  in  a  vault  of  steel ; 
The  heavens  are  far  away,  yet  God  is  near ; 

I  find  a  need  divine 

That  meeteth  need  of  mine ; 
No  rigid  fate  I  meet,  no  law  austere ; 


70  SUMMA    THEOLOGIZE. 

I  see  my  God  who  turns, 
And  o'er  his  creature  yearns, — 
Upon  the  cross  God  gives,  and  claims  the  tear. 

And  from  this  soul  His  love, 
The  slighted  human  soul  that  men  despise, 
Shall  yet  work  out  a  wondrous  work,  above 
All  wonders  of  His  earth  and  seas  and  skies  ; 

Love,  love  that  once  for  all  did  agonize, 
Shall  conquer  all  things  to  itself !  if  late 
Or  soon  this  fall,  I  ask  not  nor  surmise, — 
And  when  my  God  is  waiting  I  can  wait ! 

(ZFimstus  crucifijcu0t 
Dei  potentia  ac  Dei  sapientia ! 


SPONSALIA  AMORIS  ET   DOLORIS. 

"   "QEHOLD  these  lovers,  that  with  looks  elate 
-*^    Upon  each  other  gaze  !  who  may  they  be 
But  Francis  with  his  vow'd,  his  chosen  mate, 
His  dearest  Poverty  ! " 

So  Dante  spake  ;  "  her  kind 
First   husband1  dead,  she  lived  withdrawn  from 

sight, 
Nor  ever  thought  a  second  spouse  to  find, 
A  second  troth  to  plight." 

"  With  bare  and  wounded  feet 
She  trod  the  cruel  thorns  unwooed  till  now, 
For  none  but  holy  Francis  guess'd  how  sweet 
The  rose-bloom  on  her  brow." 

1  Christ.  "  She,  bereaved 
Of  her  first  husband,  slighted  and  obscure, 
Thousand  and  hundred  years  and  more  remained 
Without  a  single  suitor,  till  he  came." 

Paradiso.   Canto  xi. 


72        SPONSALIA  AMORIS  ET  DOLORIS. 

And  now  a  lowly  pair 
They  dwell  content,  possessing  and  possest, 
And  day  by  day  grows  Poverty  more  fair, 
Grows  Francis  still  more  blest. 

Yet  to  a  sterner  troth 
Than  Francis  pledged,  I  bind  you,  spirits  high  ! 
Fear  not  to  plight  with  mine  your  spousal  oath,— 
The  bride  is  ever  nigh. 

But  who  her  hand  will  fold 
In  his  ?  her  form  unto  his  bosom  strain  ? 
What  heart  so  tender  found,  what  heart  so  bold 
To  be  the  mate  of  Pain  ? 

What  eyes  can  brook  the  gaze 
Of  her  wild  eyes  ?  what  ears  can  bear  the  moan 
She  maketh  through  dark  nights  and  silent  days, 
That  she  hath  dwelt  alone  ? 

Yet  fear  not  thou  to  take 
This  woman  for  thy  bride,  oh  soul  elect ! 
Fear  not  thy  choice,  thy  pride,  thy  joy  to  make 
Of  her  whom  all  reject ! 


SPONSALIA    AMORIS  ET  DOLORIS.        73 

Oh  !  fear  not  thou  to  grasp 
Her  shrinking  form,  nor  spare  for  fond  caress, 
Only  within  Love's  strictest,  closest  clasp 
Can  Anguish  learn  to  bless. 

And  quail  not  though  she  change 
Within  thine  arms  to  some  foul  fearful  shape, 
Still  hold  her  through  each  aspect  wild  and  strange, 
And  let  her  not  escape  ! 

So  shall  she  turn  and  meet 
Thy  gaze  with  ardours,  transports  all  her  own, 
And  give,  for  thine,  look,  smile  and  word  more 
sweet 
Than  joy  hath  ever  known. 

So  shall  the  willing  air 
Be  wooed  with  softest  marriage  peal, — the  knell 
Toll'd  for  the  passing  of  a  long  despair, — 
Yea,  down  to  deepest  hell 

Its  sound  will  pass,  and  say, 
"  Rejoice  thou  under- world  !  a  warfare  long, 
Confused,  hath  roll'd  to  victory  away, — 
The  strong  hath  met  the  strong ; 


74 


SPONSALIA  AMOBIS  ET  DOLORIS. 


"  Love  weds  with  Pain, — let  Sin 
And  Death  abide,  and  deem  their  empire  snre, 
What  npw  can  be  too  hard  for  Love  to  win, 
For  Anguish  to  endure  ?" 


THE   MARRIAGE   SUPPER   OF   THE 
LAMB. 

"  The  Master  sayeth,  Where  is  the  guest-chamber,  that  I 
may  eat  the  Passover  with  my  disciples  ?" 

NOW  Wisdom  lifts  on  high 
Her  voice, — abroad  a  summons  clear  she 
sends 
"  Come  hither,  friends,  and  eat  abundantly, 
Yea,  drink,  beloved  friends  ! " 

My  festal  board  is  fair, 
My  banquet- chamber  ready,  on  its  chiet 
Long  waiting,  little  need  the  heart  prepare 
To  keep  the  feast  of  grief ; 

My  wine  is  mingled  strong 
With  myrrh  !  full  mingled  is  it,  spiced,  and  sweet ; 
This  Passover  with  bitter  herbs  how  long 
Have  I  desired  to  eat. 


76  THE  MARRIAGE  SUPPER 

Come,  eat  my  bread, — nor  shrink 
My  soul's  deep,  secret  baptism  to  share  ; 
Be  strong,  beloved  friends,  the  cnp  to  drink, 
The  Master's  hand  doth  bear. 

Be  patient !  from  the  north 
The  wind  blows  keen,  the  garden  little  yields 
Of  pleasant  fruits,  yet  hath  our  Lord  gone  forth 
To  walk  among  the  fields. 

His  steps  have  left  the  flowers, 
He  feeds  no  more  among  the  lilies  sweet, 
A  husbandman  he  toils  through  long  cold  hours, 
With  wounded  hands  and  feet. 

Come,  reap  with  Him,  for  white 
These  fields  and  ready,  thrust  the  sickle  in  ; 
The  harvest  stands  but  thicker  for  its  blight 
Of  death,  woe,  want,  and  sin. 

Come,  glean  the  blasted  ear 
With  Him,  nor  be  the  wither' d  grass  forgot 
That  waves  upon  the  house-tops  thin  and  sere, 
By  mower  gather' d  not. 


OF  THE  LAMB.  77 

To  many  a  marish  place, 
Choked  with  the  living  wreck  that  on  earth's  fair, 
Cold  bosom  drifts  awhile  and  leaves  no  trace, 
I  bid  your  steps  repair. 

Unto  the  darken' d  mine 
I  call  you  now,  unto  the  burning  plain, 
To  cells  where  fetter' d  spirits  moan  and  pine, 
Where  madness  shakes  its  chain. 

I  bid  you  to  the  drear, 
Dark  house,  unloved  of  all,  where  want  and  age, 
Sit  day  by  day, — and  turn  without  a  tear 
Life's  saddest,  weariest  page. 

In  homes  unblest  where  care, 
Grown  fierce  and  reckless,  turns  at  last  and  rends 
The  hearts  she  broods  on ;  I  would  meet  you  there, 
Oh,  friends,  beloved  friends  ! 

I  tryst  with  you  !  I  bid 
Two  long  predestined  lovers  held  apart, 
By  seas,  storms,  graves, — by  flaming  swords, — 
unchid, 
Now  seek  each  other's  heart. 


78  THE  MARRIAGE  SUPPER. 

Grief  waits  for  love, — she  turns 
To  that  kind  voice,  nor  will  the  strangers  hear 
Upon  her  worn  and  wasted  cheek  she  yearns 
To  feel  love's  burning  tear. 

Love  seeks  out  grief, — he  knows 
No  lips  save  his  in  fondest  ministering, 
From  ont  her  rankling  wound,  ere  yet  it  close, 
Can  draw  the  deadly  sting. 

He  fain  unto  his  breast 
Would  draw  her  aching  brow  ;  uncomforted 
He  knoweth  she  hath  dwelt  in  long  unrest, — 
She  may  not  die  unwed. 

Hear,  Earth  and  Heaven,  then'  vow  ! 
Whom  God  hath  join'd  in  one  let  none  divide  ; 
Rejoice,  0  Heaven  !  be  joyful,  Earth,  for  now 
The  bridegroom  meets  the  bride  ! 


SCHOLA   CRUCIS,    SCHOLA   LUCIS. 

T)ENEATH  Thy  cross  I  stand, 
-*-^   Jesus,  my  Saviour,  turn  and  look  on  me, 
Oh  !  who  are  these,  that  one  on  either  hand 
Are  crucified  with  Thee  ? 

The  one  that  turns  away 
With  sullen,  scoffing  lip, — and  one  whose  eyes 
Close  o'er  the  words, — "  Yet  shalt  thou  be  this  day 

With  me  in  Paradise." 

Here  would  I  fain  behold 
This  twofold  mystery  !  Love's  battle  won  ; 
Its  warfare  ended,  and  its  ransom  told, 

Its  conquest  but  begun ! 

I  say  not  to  thee  now, 
"  Come  from  the  cross,  and  then  will  I  believe ;" 
Oh,  lift  me  up  to  Thee,  and  teach  me  how 

To  love  and  how  to  grieve. 


80         SCHOLA  CRUCIS,   SCHOLA   LUCIS. 

Stay  on  the  cross,  until 
Thou  art  of  all  confess'd,  of  all  adored  ; 
Be  there  each  ling'ring  heart,  each  wav'ring  will, 

Made  fast  unto  its  Lord. 

I  track' d  thy  footsteps  long, 
For  where  Thou  wert,  there  would  Thy  servant 

be ; 
But  now  methought  the  silence,  now  the  throng, 

"Would  part  me  still  from  thee. 

I  sought  Thee  'mid  the  leaves, 
I   find  Thee  on  the  dry  and  blasted  tree  ; 
I  saw  thee  not,  until  I  saw  the  thieves 

There  crucified  with  Thee  ! 


SI   DESCENDERO   IN   INTERNUM,    ADES. 

"  Who  cometh  first,  marching  before  the  Divine  hosts  ? 
Gabriel,  accustomed  to  bring  good  tidings  of  great  joy  to  men. 
He  says,  '  Lift  up  yourselves,  ye  gates ;  be  broken,  chains ; 
open,  everlasting  doors,  make  a  highway  for  the  Lord;'  then 
a  shudder  passes  through  Hell,  its  deep  foundations  are 
shaken,  prison  after  prison  is  broken  up,  the  conquering  host 
penetrates  into  deeper  gulfs.  Adam  himself,  who,  as  being 
the  first  to  die,  is  deepest  sunk  in  death,  hears  the  steps  of  the 
Lord  visiting  the  captives,  and  turning  to  those  who  are 
chained  with  him,  he  says,  '  I  hear  the  step  of  some  one  who 
draws  near  to  us;  if  He  deigns  to  descend  here  we  are  de- 
livered, if  we  do  but  see  Him  we  are  saved!'  As  Adam 
speaks  thus,  the  Saviour  enters  bearing  His  cross.  So  soon  as 
Adam  our  father  sees  him,  he  smites  upon  his  breast,  and  savs, 
1  God  our  Saviour  bringing  with  Him  all  His  angels.'  Jesus 
answered, '  And  bringing  with  him  thy  soul.'  " — From  a  Homily 
by  EpIPHAXHJS. 

WHAT  place  is  this  forlorn, 
A  palace,  or  a  prison,  or  a  tomb  ? 
What  waste,  wide  world  is  this,  what  realm  out- 
worn, 
Compact  of  fire  and  gloom  ? 
G 


82  SI  DESCENDERO 

What  aspects  vast  and  drear 
Are  these  that  rise  around,  with  eyes  for  hate 
Too  blank,  that  through  the  darkness  search  and 
peer, 

Fix'd  in  impassive  Fate  ? 


What  sea  is  this  ?  what  shore  ? 
What  sullen,  tidal  moan  that  still  recedes  ? 
What  waves  are  these  that  cast  up  evermore 

Weeds,  foul  and  clinging  weeds  ? 


Weeds,  weeds  around  my  hands, 
Weeds,   weeds  around  my  heart,  that  choke  and 

press, 
And  drag  my  spirits  downwards  unto  lands 

Of  dire  forgetfulness. 


Weeds,  weeds  about  my  head 
Are  wrapp'd,  I  said,  "  The  darkness  covers  me j" 
But  even  while  I  spake  among  the  dead, 

I  hieiu  my  soul  was  free. 


IN  WFERNUM,  ABES.  83 

One  cometh  on  the  wings 
Of  morn,  to  Him  the  darkness  is  as  light, 
He  seeks  my  soul,  he  saves  it  from  the  kings 

Of  Hades  and  of  Mght. 

He  cometh,  o'er  my  woes 
A  victor,  purple  in  His  garment's  stain, 
Red  with  the  life-blood  of  his  conquer' d  foes 

And  mine — death,  sin,  and  pain. 

As  one  that  on  the  vine 
Treads  in  the  bursting  wine- vat,  He  hath  trod 
The  press  alone,  and  trampled  out  a  wine 

Ripe  for  the  wrath  of  God. 

He  binds  within  His  crown 
The  thorn  that  rankled  with  so  sharp  a  pang, 
Beneath  His  kingly  heel  He  treadeth  down 

The  adder's  piercing  fang. 

Before  His  breath  the  bands 
That  held  me  fall  and  shrivel  up  in  flame. 
He  bears  my  name  upon  His  wounded  hands, 

Upon  His  heart  my  name. 


84  SI  DESCENDERO  IN  INFERNUM. 

I  wait,  my  soul  doth  wait 
For  Him  who  on  His  shoulder  bears  the  key ; 
I  sit  fast  bound,  and  yet  not  desolate, 

My  mighty  Lord  is  free. 

Be  thou  up-lifted,  Door 
Of  everlasting  strength  !  the  Lord  on  high 
Hath  gone,  and  captive  led  for  evermore 

My  long  captivity. 

What  though  these  rocks  be  steep, 
The  valley  dusk,  with  crowding  shadows  dim, 
Ere  Tophet  was  of  old  made  large  and  deep, 

I  was  beloved  of  Him  ! 


"QUID   DIXIT,   MARIA?" 

\  T  THAT  said  He,  Mary,  unto  thee  ? 

^  *      For  it  was  thine  His  voice  to  hear, 
When  thou  wert  waiting  in  the  gloom 
Of  twilight  dawn,  and  by  the  tomb, 
He  talk'd  with  thee  when  none  were  near ; 
Oh,  happy  thns  thy  Lord  to  see  ! 
What  said  He,  Mary,  nnto  thee  ?  " 

"  Few  words  He  said  to  me,  I  hide 
Each  word  He  said  within  my  heart ; 
Fain  had  I  won  Him  to  abide, 
Yet  soon  I  knew  that  I  must  part 
With  Him,  my  Master,  Lord,  and  Guide. 
I  met  His  eye,  His  voice  I  heard, 
I  saw  His  wounded  hands  and  feet, 
He  call'd  me  by  my  name,  no  word 
Was  ever  to  my  soul  so  sweet ; 
And  by  His  tomb  He  bade  me  stay 
Until  the  breaking  of  the  day  ! " 

"  But  see,  the  hills  are  all  a- glow, 
The  sunrise  cleaves  its  path  of  gold 


86  QUID   DIXIT,   MARIA? 

Through  many  a  darken' d  valley  low, 
And  fires  the  mountain  summits  cold. 
What  flowers  unclose  !    what  herbs  of  price ! 
What  costly  gums  for  sacrifice 
Are  dropping  now  ! "     "  The  hills  are  high, 
I  cannot  reach  them,  lest  I  die  ; 
And  by  His  cross  He  bid  me  dwell 
Until  the  evening  shadows  fell." 

"  Yet  rise,  thy  Lord  hath  risen !    Behold, 
From  Hades  now  He  bears  away 
The  gates,  and  snatches  from  the  hold 
Of  death  and  sin  a  mighty  prey ; 
His  soul  hath  pass'd  afar  !    to  Him 
The  darkness  shines  as  doth  the  day ! 
Why  linger  'mid  the  shadows  dim  ? 
Why  watch  the  place  where  Jesus  lay  ?" 

"  Beside  His  tomb,  beside  His  cross 
He  bade  me  rest !    Ye  speak  in  vain 
Who  have  not  known  my  gain  nor  loss  ; 
The  Master's  words  are  kind  and  plain, 
He  calls  the  wounded  not  to  pain, 
The  weary  unto  conflict  sore ; 
He  bids  the  wayworn  not  again 


QUID  DIXIT,   MARIA?  87 

Retrace  their  fruitless  wanderings  o'er ; 
He  led  me  to  this  place  !    He  knew 
My  sonl  upon  the  burning  plain 
Where  riseth  from  the  earth  no  dew, 
Where  falleth  from  the  heavens  no  rain  ; 
He  track'd  my  steps  'mid  forests  old 
And  tangled,  where  the  flowers  awake 
In  torrid  midnight  gloom,  and  hold 
Death's  revel  in  the  jungle  brake ; 
Yea  !  he  hath  known  my  soul  in  cold, 
The  deadly  frost  that  none  can  bide, 
The  formless  vapours,  white  and  dim, 
Became  my  shroud,  and  yet  from  Him 
Conceal' d  me  not !  whate'er  betide 
I  clasp  the  cross  !  the  earth  is  wide, 
And  drear,  and  old  !  the  heavens  are  far  ! 
For  guide  to  me  He  gave  no  star, 
But  near  His  cross  He  bid  me  stay 
Until  the  shadows  fled  away  ! 

"  To  me  He  said  not,  '  Thou  shalt  rise 
With  Me,  thy  risen  Lord  this  day, 
And  be  with  Me  in  Paradise,' 
Beside  the  cross  He  bade  me  stay ; 
He  met  me  in  the  garden's  gloom, 


QUID   DIXIT,   MARIA? 

But  to  that  garden,  sweet  and  dim, 
Or  through  its  angel-guarded  gate, 
He  sent  me  not !  I  wait  for  Him 
Beside  His  cross,  beside  His  tomb ; 
I  wait  for  Him,  my  soul  doth  wait, 
And  by  the  cross  I  will  abide, 
And  keep  the  word  my  Lord  hath  given. 
Except  the  cross  and  Him  who  died 
Upon  it,  now  in  earth  or  Heaven 
What  own  I,  claim  I  ?  now  below 
I  seek  no  further,  here  is  woe 
Assuaged  for  ever ;  now  above 
I  look  no  longer ;  here  is  love  ! 


efnro  part 


"  31  am  crucifien  toiti)  erimst,  net>ert|jele00  31  "be » 
get  not  3(,  but  GEfnist  Itoetf)  in  me,  anti  tije  life  toJ>ic|>  3f 
noto  libe  in  tfje  fleai?  3f  fite  bp  tfje  fait!)  of  t|?e  Son  of 
@ot),  toijo  lotien  me,  antJ  catoe  fjimeelf  for  me." 

Galatians  ii.  20. 


L'ENVOI. 


r  I  ^0  me  how  many  tasks 

■*-     Love  gave  in  youth,  and  I  was  well  content 
Only  to  stand  and  wait  a  lover  asks ; 

And  yet  my  spirit,  Dent 

By  pain  and  strife,  forewent 

Its  steadfast  service  long 

Ere  the  sweet  evensong. 


Yet  oft  will  Love  return 
And  sweetly  talk  with  me,  most  like  a  friend 
Austere  and  proved,  whose  words,  perchance,  are  stern, 
Yet  in  whose  eyes  (that  while  he  speaketh  hend 
To  meet  my  own)  such  gentleness  I  find, 
That  all  his  speech  seems  pitiful  and  kind. 

Love  saith  to  me,  "  Kepent;" 
Love  saith  to  me,  "  Believe;" 
Love  sayeth  oft-times,  "  Grieve 
That  thou  hast  little  lent, 
That  thou  hast  little  given, 
To  Him,  thy  Lord  in  Heaven, 
And  when  He  cometh  what  wilt  Thou  receive  ?" 


9-2 


L'ENVOI. 


Love  sayeth  to  me,  "  Pray 

That  thou  mayst  meet  that  day 
Desired  yet  feared ; "  and  oft-times  Love  again 
Repeats  these  words,  and  oh !  my  spirit  then, 

What  sayest  thou  ?    "  I  say 

To  all  Love  sayeth,  Yea, 
Yea  evermore,  and  evermore  Amen ! " 


THE   SUN-FLOWER. 

r  I  ^ILL  the  slow  daylight  pale, 

-*-     A  willing  slave,  fast  bound  to  one  above, 
I  wait ;  he  seems  to  speed,  and  change,  and  fail 
I  know  he  will  not  move. 

I  lift  my  golden  orb 
To  his,  nnsmitten  when  the  roses  die, 
And  in  my  broad  and  burning  disk  absorb 

The  splendours  of  his  eye. 

His  eye  is  like  a  clear 
Keen  flame  that  searches  through  me ;  I  must 

droop 
Upon  my  stalk,  I  cannot  reach  his  sphere ; 

To  mine  he  cannot  stoop. 


94  THE  SUN-FLOWER. 

I  win  not  my  desire, 
And  jet  I  fail  not  of  my  gnerdon  ;  lo  ! 
A  thousand  flickering  darts  and  tongues  of  fire 

Around  me  spread  and  glow ; 

All  ray'd  and  crown' d,  I  miss 
No  queenly  state  until  the  summer  wane, 
The  hours  flit  by ;  none  knoweth  of  my  bliss, 

And  none  has  guess'd  my  pain ; 

I  follow  one  above, 
I  track  the  shadow  of  his  steps,  I  grow 
Most  like  to  him  I  love 

Of  all  that  shines  below. 


SITA. 

Sita,  the  divine  spouse  of  Rama,  is  torn  from  him  by  evil 
genii,  under  whose  power  she  long  remains.  When  after  a  pro- 
tracted separation,  Sita  is  again  restored  to  Rama,  he  turns  from 
her  coldly,  under  the  idea  that  during  her  cruel  bondage  and 
long  wanderings  she  may  have  met  with  contamination.  She 
appeals  to  the  ordeal  of  fire  and  flings  herself  within  it,  adjuring 
the  flame,  as  searching  all  things,  to  bear  witness  to  her  purity. 
The  fire  restores  her  "faultless,  pure,  immaculate,  one  who  has 
never  offended  against  her  lord  in  speech,  in  heart,  in  eyes." 

T~>vEATH-SMITTE]Sr  with  a  look 

*S    From  him  she  loved,  of  donbt  and  question 

cold, 
She  turn'd  from  him  she  loved  without  rebuke, 
And  stood  amazed ;    then  spake  out  keen  and 

bold, 
As  one  whose  grief  already  is  too  old 
For  fond  reproach : 

"  All  pain  except  this  pain, 
To  live  and  meet  his  cold  averted  eye ; 
All  shame,  except  his  lofty,  still  disdain  ; 


96  SIT  A. 

All  other  outrage  schemed  'twixt  earth  and  sky 
I  have  endured  for  ages,  still  upborne 
By  thought  of  Rama's  love  ;  I  meet  his  scorn  ; 
Come  Fire,  and  end  this  undream' d  agony." 

And  even  while  she  spake 
She  fell  a  flame  within  the  flame,  as  light 
As  melts  upon  the  stream  a  snowy  flake 
The  fire  sent  forth — a  thousand  lambent  bright 
Swift  flickering  tongues,  each  one  that  did  pro- 
claim 
Her  pure  and  stainless,  "  Sita,  free  from  blame." 
The  flame  caress'd  her  scarlet  vesture's  pride, 
No  flower  that  garlanded  her  forehead  shrank, 
Her  bosom  glow'd ;  as  one  that  doth  deride 
Her  fate  she  stood  serene  as  though  she  drank 
The  flame's  fierce  breath. 


Then  sang  she,  "  Oh,  thou  keen 
Attesting  flame  !      Thou  callest  me  by  name, 
Thou  sayest  to  me,  Welcome,  free  from  blame 
In  thought,  word,  deed,  unstain'd  !  and  yet  the 
same 


SITA.  97 

Were  I,  still  Sita,  still  a  blameless  Queen, 

Hadst  Thou  too  join'd  with  all  to  work  me  shame  ! 

Had  all  on  Earth  made  cause 
With  all  in  Heaven  to  drag  me  unto  ill, 
I  had  been  ever  pure,  and  to  the  laws 
That  bound  me  ever  true  !  rememb'ring  still, 
Rama's  deep  eyes,  and  all  the  heaven  we  shared 
'Mid  the  high  hills,  in  many  a  balmy  cleft, 
And  chasm  the  warm  thunder  scarce  had  left. 
Yea  !  let  my  spirit  to  its  depths  be  bared, 
Still  were  I  pure  !  though  ages  past  away, 
And  found  me  still  the  demon's  scoff  and  prey 
Through  spells  accurst,  or  left  me  drifted,  driven 
Through  Hell's  wide  vaults ;  still  trampled  on, 

despised, 
My  soul  was  his,  although  our  lives  were  riven, 
Yea,  scorn'd  and  outraged,  agonized,  abhorr'd, 
Still  I  was  Rama's  love,  and  he  was  Sita's  Lord  ! 

And  Thou,  oh,  champion,  late 
And  sure  !     Thou  Fire  that,  searching  all  things, 

dost  proclaim 
Me  pure  and  stainless  !    Sita,  free  from  blame  ! 

H 


98  SIT  A. 

Hadst  thou,  too,  leagued  thyself  with  iron  Fate, 

Hadst  join'd  the  cruel  earth  and  bitter  sky 

To  leave  forsaken  Sita  desolate  ; 

Then  from  itself  unto  itself  my  soul 

Would  witness  to  the  whole  ; 

Still  to  itself  my  heart  would  testify 

And  prove  me  Sita  !  Sita  still  the  pride 

Of  Heaven,  the  cherish' d  Bride 

Of  Rama,  fair  and  uncontaminate." 

She  ceased,  nor  to  the  sky 
ISTor  sun  appealing  turned  ;  nor  yet  the  eye 
Of  Rama  sought ;  but  stood  as  one  compelled 
To  speak  the  words  she  utter' d,  not  in  pride, 
Nor  wrath,  nor  scorn,  but  even  as  impell'd 
By  stedfast  truth.      So  stood  she,  self-upheld, 
And  before  all  the  worlds,  self-justified. 


EXPECTANS   EXPECTAVI. 

THOU  gavest  me  no  kiss, 
Jesus,  my  Master  !  oft  I  sadly  thought 
Perchance  Thou  choosest  to  be  found  unsought 
And  I  was  ever  seeking  !  yet  in  this 
I  cannot  change,  and  even  should  I  miss 
Thee  on  thy  way,  yet  here  I  will  abide, 
And  track  thy  foot-prints  to  the  dark  stream's 
side. 

Thou  gavest  unto  me 
No  sign  !  I  knew  no  loving  secret,  told 
As  oft  to  men  beloved,  and  I  must  hold 
My  peace  when  these  would  speak  of  converse 

high; 
Jesus,  my  Master,  yet  I  would  be  nigh 
When  these  would  speak,  and  in  the  words 

rejoice, 
Of  them  who  listen  to  the  Bridegroom's  voice. 


100  EXPECT  AN S  EXPECT  AVI. 

Thou  gavest  unto  me 

No  goodly  gift,  no  pearl  of  price  untold, 

No  signet-ring,  no  ruby  shut  in  gold, 

No  chain  around  my  neck  to  wear  for  pride, 

For  love  no  token  in  my  breast  to  hide ; 

Yea  !    these,  perchance,  from  out  my  careless  hold 

Had  slipped,  perchance  some  robber  shrewd  and 

bold 
Had  snatch'd  them  from  me  !  so  Thou  didst  provide 
For  me,  my  Master  kind,  from  clcvy  to  day ; 
And  in  this  world,   Thine  Inn,    Thou  badst   me 

stay, 
And  saidst, — "  What  Thou  spendest,  I  will  pay/' 

I  never  heard  Thee  say 
"  Bring  forth  the  robe  for  this  My  son,  the  best," 
Thou  gavest  not  to  me,  as  unto  guest 
Approved,  a  festal  mantle  rich  and  gay ; 
Still  singing,  ever  singing,  in  the  cold 
Thou  leavest  me,  without  Thy  Door  to  stay ; 
Now  the  Night  draweth  on,  the  Day  is  old, 
And   Thou  hast  never  said,  — "  Come  in,   my 

Friend,"— 
Yet  once,  yea  twice,  methinks  thy  love  did  send 


EXPECTANS  EXPECT  AVI. 


101 


A  secret  message, 


Bless'd  unto  the  end 
Are  they  that  love  and  they  that  still  endure." 
Jesus,  my  Saviour,  take  to  Thee  Thy  poor, 
Take  home  Thy  humble  Friend. 


ELECTION. 

T  T  J  HO  shall  the  secret  learn 

*  *       Of  Thine  exclusion  stern  ? 
Thj  word,  thy  world  write  bitter  things  and  plain. 
Yet  doth  the  heart  appeal, 
From  lore  their  books  nnseal, 
And  ask,  "  Can  anght  that  lives  love,  suffer,  yearn 
in  vain  ?" 

Pain  shall  my  witness  be 
That  I  am  loved  by  Thee ; 
Before  Thy  worlds  were  framed,  within  Thy 
Book 
Were  all  my  members  writ ; 
Upon  my  substance,  yet 
Unfashion'd,  Thou  didst  look  : 
Then  from  Thy  breath  was  lit 
A  furnace,  deep  and  vast ; 
Yet  didst  thou  weigh  the  blast 


ELECTION.  103 

The  while  Thou  feedest  the  keen  flame,  and  see 
The  sum  of  things  Thou  didst  prepare  for  me. 

Need  shall  my  witness  be 

That  I  am  loved  of  Thee  ; 
No  work  of  Thine,  my  God,  is  from  Thee  thrown 
With  careless  hand  !   sun,  moon,  and  steadfast 

star, 
And  wave  that  moans  and  strives  against  its  bar 
Is  held  to  Thee  !  the  moss  unto  its  stone. 
Thou  takest  care  for  all !  the  spider  clings 
And  lays  her  hold  in  palaces  of  kings, 
The  fierce   beasts  roam  by  night,   uncouth   and 

wild 
And  yet,  beloved,  Thou  wilt  not  leave  Thy  child ; 

Thou  wilt  not  break  the  reed 

Which  Thou  hast  bruised ;  the  vine 

Unclasp,  that  seeks  to  twine 
Around  the  elm,  nor  bid  its  tendrils  bleed ; 

Nor  will  Thy  soul  reject 

Him  whom  Thou  dost  elect 
To  be  Thine  own  through  weakness,  search,  and 
need. 


104  ELECTION. 

Love  shall  my  witness  be 

That  I  am  loved  of  Thee  : 
The  red  pomegranate  bursts  not  till  it  shows 
Within  its  breast  the  dark,  well-ripen'd  seed ; 
The  heart  most  nigh  to  breaking  learns  and 

knows 
The  fnlness  of  its  wealth  throngh  very  need ; 
When  fire  is  kindled  on  the  earth  it  glows 
In  highest  Heaven ;  none  rnn  nncall'd,  none  love 
Unloved ;  below,  above, 
Thy  works  are  many,  but  Thy  Name  is  One : 

Who  speaks  of  doom,  of  Fate 

Thon  dost  predestinate, 
Through  Love  the  soul  that  loves  to  be  Thine 
own. 


Thou  hast  given  me  a  heart  to  desire, 
Thou  hast  given  me  a  soul  to  aspire, 
A  spirit  to  question  and  plead  ; 
I  ask  not  what  Thou  hast  decreed ; 
I  think  but  of  love  and  of  need  ; 


ELECTION.  105 

Thou  art  rich,  Thou  art  kind,  Thou  art  free  ; 

What  joy  shall  be  failing  to  me 

Whom  Thou  lovest  ?    Thy  smile  and  Thy  kiss 

Can  give  me  back  all  that  I  miss, 

In  Thy  presence  is  fulness  of  bliss : 

I  ask  not  its  nature  !     I  know 

It  is  life,  it  is  youth,  it  is  love, 

It  is  all  that  is  wanting  below, 

It  is  all  that  is  waiting  above. 

Is  it  peace  that  I  crave  ?  is  it  rest  ? 
Is  it  love  that  would  bless  and  be  blest  ? 
All,  all  that  Thou  takest  away, 
Thou  canst  give  me  again,  in  a  day, 
In  an  hour,  in  a  moment !    Thy  hand 
Is  full,  and  I  open  my  breast 
For  the  flower  of  my  soul  to  expand  ! 


BURIED,  BUT  NOT  DEAD. 

"  What  now  dost  thou  bury 

"  So  softly  and  still  ? 

"  Oh  !  this  is  the  grave 

"  Of  my  own  proud  will." 
"  I  bid  it  sleep  softly  in  Death's  little  room, 
"  And  my  hopes,  too,  I  bury  with  it  in  the  tomb" 

De  la  Motte  Fouque' 

"D  ETWIXT  the  light  of  the  rising  sun, 
And  the  light  of  the  waning  moon, 
Along  the  grassy  forest  path, 

Fair  Knight,  thon  speedest  soon  ! 
A  chill  faint  Dawn  is  on  the  sky, 

And  through  the  wood  a  breath 
Runs  fresh,  yet  cold  as  is  the  sigh 

That  comes  'twixt  life  and  death. 

The  forest  paths  are  green  and  lone, 

The  forest  shade  is  deep, 
The  secrets  on  its  stillness  thrown 

It  knoweth  well  to  keep ; 


BURIED,  BUT  NOT  DEAD.  107 

And  some  will  seek  the  forest  glade, 

A  deadly  strife  to  end  ; 
And  some  there  are  will  seek  its  shade. 

To  meet  a  gentle  friend. 

Yet  on  this  brow  I  read  no  frown 

Of  foeman's  vengeful  ire, 
And  in  this  quiet  eye  cast  down 

Xo  light  of  soft  desire  ; 
Not  thus  they  look  who  meet  by  night 

Beneath  the  blossom'd  thorn, 
And  cry,  when  breaks  the  Eastern  light, 

"  How  quickly  comes  the  morn  ! " 

A  little  bird  upon  the  bough 

Sang  clear,  a  light  breeze  stirr'd 

The  thick,  dark  summer  leaves,  but  now 
I  know  not  if  he  heard 

The  whisper  of  the  summer  leaves, 
The  carol  of  the  bird. 

A  little  brook  beside  his  way 

Ran  chafing,  chiding  long  ; 
I  know  not  if  he  marked  its  play. 

Or  heard  its  ceaseless  song  ;  v 


108  BURIED,  BUT  NOT  DEAD. 

At  length  he  near'd  a  green,  smooth  place 

Within  the  thickest  shade, 
A  still,  fair,  solitary  place, 

For  qniet  spirits  made. 

And  in  that  solitary  place 

He  knelt  and  pray'd  to  Grod. 
I  saw  no  mound  beneath  his  knees, 

ISTo  heaving  of  the  sod  : 
Unstirr'd  I  saw  the  grasses  lie, 

Unstirr'd  the  daisies  wave  ; 
A  pleasant  spot,  and  yet  I  knew 

He  knelt  npon  a  grave. 

He  lifted  np  his  steel-clad  hands, 

"  I  bring  to  Thee  the  first, 
I  bring  to  Thee,"  he  said,  "  the  last 

Fond  hope  that  I  have  nursed ; 
The  wish  that  strengthen'd  with  my  strength, 

And  with  my  being  grew  ; 
And  the  last  sweet,  silent  dream  that  crept 

Close  to  my  heart,  and  drew 
So  soft  a  breath  that  if  it  slept 

Or  woke,  I  scarcely  knew. 


BURIED,  BUT  NOT  DEAD.  109 

On  earth,  in  Heaven,  whom  have  I  now 

But  thee, — in  death,  in  life  ? 
Oh,  bind  my  spirit  with  the  vow 

That  makes  an  end  of  strife  ! 


"  The  Dead  above  their  dead  may  wail, 

The  living  live  to  Thee, 
Oh,  First  and  Last  !     Thou  dost  not  fail 

For  Thou  art  strong  ;  and  we, 
Thy  little  ones,  are  weak  and  frail, 

And  Thou,  our  Lord,  art  free, 
And  we  with  heavy  bands  are  bound ; 

But  now  of  bond  or  free 
I  reck  not, — bitter  turns  to  sweet, — 

I  see  Thy  hands,  I  see  Thy  feet ; 
My  dearest  Lord,  I  see 

Thy  wounded  heart  !     Oh,  be  Thou  found 

For  First  and  Last  to  me!" 

He  rose  and  went  upon  his  way  ; 

A  moving  to  and  fro 
Was  in  the  woods,  as  of  a  calm, 

Strong  wind  that  gathers  slow  : 


110  BURIED,  BUT  NOT  DEAD. 

No  dew  lay  on  the  grassy  dell, 
The  sky  was  cloudless- clear, 
Tet  from  the  clear,  bright  heavens  there  fell 
A  solitary  tear. 

And  through  the  woven  boughs — I  saw 

The  glory  of  the  sky 
Look  down, — I  saw  the  forest  flowers 

In  quiet  bloom  and  die, — 
I  saw  the  lowly  grasses  bend, 

I  saw  the  daisies  wave  ; 
Oh  !  Jesus,  loving  to  the  end, 

Thou  knowest  of  that  grave  ! 


RECEIVING. 

"  Non  vox  sed  votum,  non  chordula  musicased  cor, 
Xon  damans  sed  amans,  can  tat  in  aure  Dei." 

MY  heart  is  fixed  on  One  above, — 
To  win  His  smile,  to  please  His  eyes 
My  heart  is  fain :  becanse  I  love, 
I  serve, — nor  yet  with  tears  and  sighs  ; 
By  patient  duty  love  must  rise, — 
And  late  and  early,  far  and  near 
I  songht  Him  gifts  ;  to  Him  are  dear 
The  things  that  others  still  despise. 

I  songht  for  Him  in  Spring-time  cold  ; 

The  trembling  palm  that  comes  in  haste, 

The  little  crocns  all  in  gold, 

The  slender  snow- drop,  and  the  bold 

Mezereon,  on  its  leafless  stem, 

Fair  things  that  do  not  fear  to  waste 

Their  gentle  sonls  !  and  after  them 


112  RECEIVING. 

Another  store  I  chanced  to  find 
Of  things  forgotten,  left  behind. 

Some  soft  white  fleece  by  briers  torn 
From  off  the  flock, — some  ear  of  corn 
Dropt  careless  from  the  gleaner's  breast, 
The  last  red  berry  on  the  thorn, 
Or  prize  of  some  forsaken  nest. 

There  came  on  earth  a  weary  time  ; 
If  this  be  Antnmn,  where  is  now 
The  frnit  npon  the  laden  bongh, 
The  harvest  redd'ning  in  the  broad 
Calm  sunshine,  where  the  squirrels  hoard, 
The  winding  clear  of  hunter's  horn  ? 
Leaves  only,  wither'd  leaves  I  found ; 
A  mournful  silence,  mournful  sound 
Of  wind  that  rustled  through  the  sere, 
Stark  boughs,  and  from  the  shrunken  ear 
Shook  out  the  thin  and  blighted  corn. 

But  while  I  mourn'd  thereat,  more  clear 
Than  song  of  bird  at  Autumn  eve, 
A  voice  was  borne  upon  mine  ear, 


RECEIVING.  113 

A  voice  that  said,  "  Why  wilt  thon  grieve, 
And  nmst  I  still  from  thee  receive  ? 
How  hast  thou  learnt  which  pleaseth  best 
The  gift  thon  bringest,  or  the  free 
Firm  open  palm  held  np  to  me  ? 
Tlie  less  is  of  the  greater  blest. 

"  Remember  what  on  earth  I  spake." 
"  Oh  then,"  I  said,  "  at  this  Thy  word 
I  take  Thee  now,  throngh  zeal  I  erred, 
Throngh  love,  that  bids  me  now  confess 
My  fanlt ;  to  give  be  Thine  !  to  bless 
Is  Thine  ;  dear  Lord,  to  Thee  I  leave 
The  greater  blessing !  with  the  less, 
So  well  content  I  will  not  grieve 
From  Thee  for  ever  to  receive, 

"  And  still  receive  !  and  never  cease 
To  gaze  on  all  this  wealth  of  Thine, 
To  joy  in  all  Thy  nocks'  increase, 
Far  more  than  if  my  cnp  with  wine 
And  oil  ran  o'er,  and  store  of  wheat 
In  finest  flonr,  and  honey  sweet 
From  ont  the  stony  rock  were  mine  ! 
i 


114  RECEIVING. 

"  '  To  give  than  to  receive  more  blest ! ' 
Thou  saidest.     Oh,  Thou  Giver  free  ! 
Good  measure,  shaken  down  and  press'd 
Together,  now  I  ask  from  Thee ; 
Oh  !  give  to  me,  dear  Lord,  and  still 
Increase  Thy  boons  !  make  broad  the  place 
Where  Thou  dost  dwell  in  me,  and  fill 
My  hands  with  gifts,  my  heart  with  grace  ; 
But  let  me  look  upon  Thy  face. 
What  need  to  mourn  if  Thou  on  mine 
But  little  comeliness  should  trace 
When  love  can  give  me  all  of  Thine  ? 
The  loved  are  fair,  the  loved  are  dress 'd 
In  garments  rich  and  fresh  and  rare. 
Oh  !  bless  Thou  me  and  I  am  blest, 
Oh  !  love  Thou  me  and  I  am  fair  ! " 


DECLENSION   AND   REVIVAL. 

"  From  Me  is  thy  fruit  found." — Hosea  xiv.  8. 

T~\  IE  to  thy  root,  sweet  flower  ! 
-*— S    If  so  God  wills,  die  even  to  thy  root : 
Live  there  awhile  an  uncomplaining,  mute, 
Blank  life,  with  darkness  wrapp'd  about  thy  head. 
And  fear  not  for  the  silence  round  thee  spread. 
This  is  no  grave,  though  thou  among  the  dead 
Art  counted,  but  the  Hiding-place  of  Power  : 
Die  to  thy  root,  sweet  flower  ! 

Spring  from  thy  root,  sweet  flower  ! 

When  so  God  wills,  spring  even  from  tlujl'oot ; 

Send  through  the  earth's  warm  breast  a  quicken' d 

shoot, 
Spread  to  the  sunshine,  spread  unto  the  shower. 
And  lift  into  the  sunny  air  thy  dower 
Of  bloom  and  odour  ;  life  is  on  the  plains 
And  in  the  woods  a  sound  of  buds  and  rains 


116 


DECLENSION  AND  REVIVAL. 


That  sing  together ;  lo  !  the  winter's  cold 
Is  past !  sweet  scents  revive,  thick  buds  unfold  ; 
Be  thou,  too,  willing  in  the  Day  of  Power, 
Spring  from  thy  root,  sweet  flower  ! 


VESPERS. 

WHEN"  I  have  said  my  quiet  say, 
When  I  have  sung  my  little  song, 
How  sweetly,  sweetly  dies  the  day 
The  valley  and  the  hill  along ; 
How  sweet  the  summons,  "  Come  away" 
That  calls  me  from  the  busy  throng  ! 

I  thought  beside  the  water's  flow 
Awhile  to  lie  beneath  the  leaves, 
I  thought  in  Autumn's  harvest  glow 
To  rest  my  head  upon  the  sheaves ; 
But,  lo  !  methinks  the  day  was  brief 
And  cloudy ;  flower,  nor  fruit,  nor  leaf 
I  bring,  and  yet  accepted,  free, 
And  blest,  my  Lord,  I  come  to  Thee. 

What  matter  now  for  promise  lost, 
Through  blast  of  Spring  or  Summer  rains  ! 
What  matter  now  for  purpose  crost, 
For  broken  hopes  and  wasted  pains  ; 


118  VESPERS. 

What  if  the  olive  little  yields, 
What  if  the  grape  be  blighted  ?     Thine 
The  corn  npon  a  thousand  fields, 
Upon  a  thousand  hills  the  vine. 

Thon  lovest  still  the  poor  ;  oh,  blest 

In  poverty  beloved  to  be  ! 

Less  lowly  is  my  choice  confess'd, 

I  love  the  rich  in  loving  Thee  ! 

My  spirit  bare  before  Thee  stands, 

I  bring  no  gift,  I  ask  no  sign, 

I  come  to  Thee  with  empty  hands 

The  surer  to  be  fill'd  from  Thine  ! 


THE   MEEK   SHALL    INCREASE    THEIR 
JOY   m  THE   LORD." 

SO  spake  the  hoary  thyme, 
Half  hidden  in  the  grass : 
I  watch  from  morning  prime 
Until  my  Lord  shall  pass. 

How  bright  beneath  the  snn, 
How  sweet  within  the  glade, 

The  flow'rets  ope,  each  one 
Beloved  by  Him  who  made 

His  flowers  that  live  in  light, 
His  flowers  that  live  in  shade. 

The  primroses  are  pale, 

Yet  fair  ;  the  violet  grows 
Beneath  her  leafy  veil, 

And  be  she  pale  none  knows, 
Or  be  she  fair,  so  sweet  her  soul  that  over- 
flows. 


120  THE  MEEK  SHALL 

But  all  my  head  is  strew' d 

With  ashes  grey  ;  and  bent 
Beneath  the  footfall  rude, 
Steals  forth  my  timid  scent, 
Crush'd  from  a  leaf  that  curls  its  wound  to 
hide  content. 

Why  should  my  Lord  delight 

In  me  ?    Behold  how  fair 
His  garden  is  !    How  bright 
His  roses  blowing  there ; 
His  lilies  all  like  queens,  that  know  not  toil 
nor  care, 

In  white  calm  peace  on  high 

Each  rears  a  blossom' d  rod ; 
The  gentian  low  doth  lie, 
Yet  lifts  from  up  the  sod 
An  eye  of  steadfast  blue,  that  looks  up 
straight  to  God. 

I  wait  my  Lord  to  greet, 

I  can  but  love  and  sigh  ; 
T  watch  his  eye  to  meet, 


LXCREASE  THEIR  JOY.  121 

He  can  but  pass  me  by ; 
And  if  his  hasty  feet 
Should  crash  me,  it  were  sweet 

Beneath  his  feet  to  die. 


ii. 

My  Love,  my  Lord,  has  gone 
Down  to  his  garden  fair, 

To  tell  o'er  his  roses,  one  by  one, 
And  to  gather  lilies  there  ; 

Now  will  I  rise  mid  sing 
A  song  which  I  have  made, 

Unto  my  Lord  the  King, 
Nor  will  I  be  afraid 

To  ask  him  of  his  flowers  tliat  spring 
In  sunshine  and  in  shade. 

"  Oh,  what  are  tlvese  roses  bright, 
That  in  thy  garland  blov:  ? 

These  roses  red  as  blood, 

These  roses  white  as  snoic  ?" 


122  THE  MEEK  SHALL 

"  These  blood-red  roses  grew 
On  a  field  with  battle  dyed ; 

These  snow-white  roses  strew 
A  path  that  is  not  wide ; 

None  seek  that  path  but  they  who  seek 
Him  who  was  crucified  !" 


"  Oh,  what  are  these  lilies  tipp'd 
With  fire,  that  sword-like  gleam  ? 

Oh,  ivhat  are  these  lilies  dvpp'd 
As  in  the  pale  moon-beam, 

That  quiver  with  unsteadfast  light, 
And  shine  as  through  a  dream  ?  " 


"  These  fiery  spirits  pass'd 

From  earth  through  sword  and  flame ; 
These  quiet  souls  at  last 

Through  patience  overcame : 
These  shine  like  stars  on  high,  and  these 

Have  left  no  trace  nor  name ; 
I  bind  them  in  one  wreath,  because 

Their  triumph  was  the  same." 


INCREASE  THEIR  JOY.  123 

"  Oh,  what  are  these  flowers  that  wake 

So  cheerful  to  the  morn, 
All  wet  with,  tears  of  early  dew ; 

And  these  that  droop  forlorn, 
With  heavy  drops  of  night  drench? d  through  ?  " 
"  These  little  flowers  of  cheerful  hue 
Familiar  by  the  wayside  grew, 

And  these  among  the  corn. 

"  And  these,  that  o'er  a  ruin  wave 

Their  crimson  flag,  in  fight 
Were  wounded  sore,  yet  still  are  brave 

To  greet  the  scent  and  sight ; 
And  these  I  found  upon  a  grave, 

All  wet  with  drops  of  night. 

"  And  some  I  have  that  will  unfold 

When  night  is  dusk  and  still, 
And  some  I  have  that  keep  their  hold 

Upon  the  wind-swept  hill ; 
These  shrink  not  from  the  summer  heat, 

They  do  not  fear  the  cold, 
And  all  of  these  I  know  for  sweet, 

For  patient  and  for  bold." 


124  THE  MEEK,   ETC. 

"  Thou  bear  est  flowers  within  thy  hand, 

Thou  wearest  on  thy  breast 
A  flower ;  now  tell  me  which  of  these 

Thy  flowers  thou  lovest  best ; 
Which  wilt  thou  gather  to  thy  heart 

Beloved  above  the  rest?" 

"  Should  I  not  love  my  flowers, 
My  flowers  that  bloom  and  pine, 

Unseen,  unsought,  unwatch'd  for  hours 
By  any  eyes  but  mine  ? 

"  Should  I  not  love  my  flowers  ? 

I  love  my  lilies  tall, 
My  marigolds  with  constant  eyes, 
Each  flower  that  blows,  each  flower  that  dies 

To  me,  I  love  them  all. 

"  I  gather  to  a  heavenly  bower 

My  roses  fair  and  sweet, 
I  hide  within  my  breast  the  flower 

That  grows  beside  my  feet." 


CHRIST'S   GARLAND. 

r  I  M3E  world  with,  stately  tread 
-*•     Moves  down  the  terrace  walk, 

To  pluck,  from  garden  bed, 

From  off  its  dainty  stalk 

The  rose,  the  silken  rose — the  rose  whose  splen- 
dour 

Is  but  the  luxury  of  light  grown  tender ; 

The  rose,  that  makes  the  very  summer  round  her 

More  warm,  more  blissful  only  to  have  found  her; 

The  golden  sunbeams  in  their  falling  bless  her, 

The  winds  that  steal  her  balmy  breath  caress  her ; 

She  breathes,  she  blooms,   she  dies  in  joy;    her 
duty 

Is  to  be  fair  and  glad  ;  her  life  is  beauty ; 

Love  wooes  her,  wins  her,  pleasure  will  not  leave 
her, 

The   sharp  thorn  guards  her  well,  but  does  not 
grieve  her, 

To  all  she  giveth  free,  yet  none  bereave  her. 


126  CHRIST'S   GARLAND. 

Ho  for  the  rose  !    but  by  the  bitter  sea, 

Torn  by  the  vexing  gale,  and  by  the  spray 

O'er-wash'd,  the  rosemary 

Lives  on  from  day  to  day 

With  deep  strange  scent,  that  yet 

Cleaves,  like  a  vain  regret ; 

Unblessing  she,  unbless'd, 

Unwoo'd  and  nncaress'd, 

Yet  fair  enough,  my  Lord,  for  Thee  and  me. 

The  lover  seeks  some  fair 

Exotic  bloom  that  breathes  through  leaf  and  stem 

Its  soul  upon  the  heavy  weighted  air, 

The  myrtle  dark,  the  rich  geranium, 

Are  his ;  all  blossoms  delicate  and  rare  ; 

His  too  are  violets  dim, 

And  sweet  and  hid  !  for  him 

The  sweetbrier,  and  the  woodbine  dusk  that  run 

Their  wild  warm  souls  in  one, 

Till  in  their  clasp  and  in  their  kiss  unending, 

None  knows,   so   close,    so    kind,    so    sure   their 

blending, 
Which  is  the  sweeter,  which  of  them  the  fairer, 
And  which  of  bliss  is  giver,  which  is  sharer ; 


CHRIST'S   GARLAND.  127 

But  by  the  common  way 

Grow  flowers  that  are  not  gay 

Nor  sweet  like  these,  and  if  ye  chance  to  name 

them 
Weeds,   only  weeds,   ye  will  not  seem  to  blame 

them  ; 
Weeds,  only  weeds,  perchance,  these  flowers  may 

be, 
Yet  fair  enough,  my  Lord,  for  Thee  and  me. 

The  child  beneath  his  feet 
Finds  flowers,  so  many  flowers, 
He  counts  by  them  his  fleet, 
Bright  days'  unlingering  hours  ; 
So  many,  that  for  best 
He  takes  the  nearest  still, 
And  still  hath  flowers,  his  breast 
And  clasping  hands  to  fill ; 
He  seeks  the  moor  where  burns 
The  furze ;  the  scented  plume 
Of  meadow  sweet,  the  bloom 
Of  May,  the  hedge-row  ferns  ; 
And  all  his  flowers  are  cool 
And  fresh  !  above  the  pool 


128  CHBISTS   GARLAND. 

They  lean,  or  in  the  pleasant  pastures  blow, 

Yet  by  the  ruin's  edge, 

And  on  the  crater's  ledge, 

And  by  the  glacier,  underneath  the  snow, 

Upon  the  dreary  hill, 

On  cottage  window  sill, 

Are  other  flowers  unsought,  unsung  that  be, 

Yet  fair  enough,  my  Lord,  for  Thee  and  me  ! 


VENT,    VENI,   EMMANUEL! 

"  Then  went  out  the  inhabitants  of  the  town  of  Mansoul  with 
haste  to  the  green  trees  and  to  the  meadows,  to  gather  boughs 
and  flowers,  therewith  to  strew  the  streets  against  their  Prince, 
the  son  of  Shaddai,  should  come ;  they  also  made  garlands  and 
other  fine  works,  to  betoken  how  joyful  they  were,  and  should 
be,  to  receive  their  Emmanuel  into  Mansoul;  they  also  prepared 
for  his  coming  what  music  the  town  might  afford,  that  they 
might  play  before  him  to  the  palace,  his  habitation.,, 

Bunyan's  Holy  War. 

WHO  cometli  now  from  Edom's  height, 
From  Bozrah's  rock-girt  fortress  hold  ? 
A  conqueror,  travelling  in  His  might, 
A  kingly  champion,  long  foretold. 


Alone,  upon  Thy  way,  alone 
Thou  comest  from  the  hills  of  pride  ; 
And  with  Thee  of  Thy  people,  none 
The  triumph  share,  the  spoil  divide. 

K 


130  VENI,    VENI,   EMMANUEL! 

Thou  sawest  there  was  none  to  aid, 
No  Saviour  for  onr  race  beheld; 
Thy  vengeance  then  its  pathway  made, 
And  Thine  own  fury  Thee  upheld. 

Ride  on,  ride  on,  elect  of  God, 
Thy  feet  are  on  the  necks  of  Kings  -T 
Thy  glittering  spear,  Thine  iron  rod, 
Shall  guide  Thy  hand  to  fearful  things. 

Why  art  Thou  in  Thy  garments  red  ? 
Thy  feet  have  track'd  the  crimson  stair 
That  leadeth  from  the  hills  of  dread, 
From  fierce  red-handed  Esau's  lair. 

A  fiery  flush  around  Thee  lies, 
In  fire  behind  Thee  sinks  the  sun, 
Yet  is  Thy  vesture  dipped  in  dyes 
From  ruddy  sky  and  soil*  unwon. 

Thy  robes  are  sprinkled  as  with  wine, 
And  purpled  with  a  costly  stain  ; 
As  one  that  treadeth  out  the  vine 
Thy  feet  have  trampled  on  the  slain. 

*  See  Note  2. 


VENI,    VENI,  EMMANUEL!  131 

As  one  who  treadeth  on  the  grape, 
Thy  feet  on  princes  and  on  powers 
Have  trampled  !  let  not  one  escape, 
But  crush  to  earth  Thy  foes  and  ours. 

Yea  !  beat  them  small  before  the  wind, 
And  smite  and  scatter  them  to  dust ; 
To  Thy  swift  chariot  firmly  bind 
The  cruel  Lords  of  hate  and  lust. 

Ride  on,  Thy  mission  to  fulfil ; 
And  let  the  promptings  of  Thy  hand 
Be  terror,  wrath,  and  anguish  still, 
Till  not  a  foe  Thy  might  withstand. 

The  ancient  Dragon  in  the  sea 
Thy  sharp  and  biting  sword  shall  feel ; 
And  on  the  serpent's  head  shall  be 
The  vengeance  of  Thy  bruised  heel. 

And  forth  Thy  keen  and  cleaving  darts 
Shall  fly  with  sure  incessant  aim  ; 
Till  all  Thine  arrows  reach  the  hearts 
Of  them  that  wrought  Thy  people  shame. 


132  VENI,    VENI,   EMMANUEL! 

Then  come  to  heal  Thy  people's  smart, 
And  witn  Thee  bring  Thy  captive  train; 
Come  Saviour  of  the  world  and  heart, 
Come,  mighty  Victor  over  pain  ! 

And  let  Thy  champing  war- steed  browse 
Upon  the  green  and  springing  vine ; 
And  feed  on  the  young  olive  boughs, — 
Thou  wilt  not  hurt  the  oil  and  wine. 

And  let  our  Earth's  wild  story  cease 
Its  broken  tale  of  wrong  and  tears  ; 
Come,  Lord  of  Salem,  Prince  of  Peace, 
And  bring  again  our  vanish'd  years  ! 


<^^z> 


Thou  bearest  in  Thy  hand  a  book, 
None  other  may  its  clasps  unseal ; 
No  eyes  but  mine  and  Thine  may  look 
On  what  its  crowded  lines  reveal. 


VEXI,    VENI,   EMMANUEL!  133 

Yet  fair,  gold  letter' d,  now  within 
Each  line  another  line  I  see, 
The  tale  of  all  that  might  have  been  ; 
And  Thon  wilt  read  it  o'er  with  me  ; 

And  with  Thy  gniding  help,  I  pierce 
Life's  labyrinth  now  no  longer  vain : 
The  love  that  frees  the  universe 
Hath  made  its  broken  story  plain. 

Thon  wearest  on  Thy  kingly  breast 
A  little  flower  that  faded  soon, 
A  flower  nnwooed  and  nncaress'd 
By  summer  in  its  golden  noon. 

A  flower  beside  a  stream  that  grew 
In  mossy  wood- walks,  dank  and  wild, — 
The  first  of  all  the  flowers  I  knew, 
The  treasure  of  a  lonely  child. 

Within  Thine  eye  divine  I  read 
A  love  exact,  a  pity  sure, 
Minute  and  tender,  taking  heed 
Of  all  that  human  hearts  endure. 


134  YEN  I,    VENI,  EMMANUEL* 

That  blends  within  its  mighty  scope 
Thy  vast  design,  our  feeble  plan, 
And  brings  again  each  faded  hope, 
In  giving  back  his  God  to  Man. 


And  art  Thou  come  with  us  to  dwell, 

Our  Prince,  our  Guide,  our  Love,  our  Lord  ? 

And  is  thy  name  Emmanuel, 

God  present  with  His  world  restored  ? 

The  world  is  glad  for  Thee  !  the  rude 
Wild  moor,  the  city's  crowded  pen; 
Each  waste,  each  peopled  solitude, 
Becomes  a  home  for  happy  men. 

The  heart  is  glad  for  Thee  !  it  knows 
None  now  shall  bid  it  err  or  mourn  ; 
And  o'er  its  desert  breaks  the  rose 
In  triumph  o'er  the  grieving  thorn. 


VENI,    VENI,  EMMANUEL!  135 

Thou  bringest  all  again ;   with  Thee 
Is  light,  is  space,  is  breadth  and  room 
For  each  thing  fair,  beloved,  and  free, 
To  have  its  hour  of  life  and  bloom. 

Each  heart's  deep  instinct  unconfess'd ; 
Each  lowly  wish,  each  daring  claim  ; 
All,  all  that  life  hath  long  repress'd, 
Unfolds,  nn dreading  blight  or  blame. 

Thy  reign  eternal  will  not  cease  ; 
Thy  years  are  sure,  and  glad,  and  slow; 
Within  Thy  mighty  world  of  peace 
The  humblest  flower  hath  leave  to  blow, 

And  spread  its  leaves  to  meet  the  sun, 
And  drink  within  its  soul  the  dew  ; 
The  child's  sweet  laugh  like  light  may  run 
Through  life's  long  day,  and  still  be  true  ; 

The  maid's  fond  sigh,  the  lover's  kiss, 
The  firm  warm  clasp  of  constant  friend  ; 
And  nought  shall  fail,  and  nought  shall  miss 
Its  blissful  aim,  its  blissful  end. 


136 


VENI,   VENI,  EMMANUEL 


The  world  is  glad  for  Thee  !  the  heart 
Is  glad  for  Thee  !  and  all  is  well, 
And  fixed,  and  sure,  because  Thou  aet, 
Whose  name  is  call'd  Emmanuel. 


NOTES. 

Xote  1.     Page  1. 

"  And  thou 
Frail  wind-swept  flower  that  in  the  dim 
Green  woods  must  fade." 

The  wood  anemone,  or  wind-flower,  a  nymph  beloved  by 
Zephyr.  This  aroused  the  jealousy  of  Flora,  who  banished  her 
from  her  court,  and  changed  her  into  a  flower,  which  always 
blooms  before  the  return  of  Spring  She  is  meanwhile  unpro- 
tected in  her  too  early  bloom,  and  wooed  by  the  rough  north 
wind ;  which  fails  to  win  her  love,  but  disturbs  her  peace  and 
causes  her  to  fade  quickly. 

Xote  2.     Page  130. 

-  Dyes 
From  ruddy  sky  and  soil  unwon." 

Who  is  He  that  cometh  from  Bozrah?  This  ancient  city 
of  Edom,  upon  which,  in  connection  with  Edom  and  Teman, 
destruction  has  been  pronounced  by  God  (see  Jeremiah 
xlix.  7  to  22 ;  and  the  whole  prophecy  of  Obadiah,)  whose 
inhabitants  dwelt  "  in  the  clefts  of  the  rocks,"  and  the 
"  heights  of  the  hills,  and  made  their  house"  like  the  nests  of 
the  eagles,  has  been  identified  with  the  modern  village  of 
Busareh,  among  the  mountains  north  of  Petra.  All  travellers 
in  this  region  have  been  struck  with  the  peculiarly  vivid  red  of 
its  rocks  and  soil  (see  Stanley's  glowing  description),  which 
seems  to  give  an  added  meaning  to  the  expression  in  the  text ; 
"  the  dyed  garments  from  Edom"  enhance  the  idea  of  vengeance 
having  been  executed  in  a  land  already  tinged  with  the  hues  of 
doom. 


PRINTED    BY   WHITTIXGHAM    AND    WILKINS 
TOOKS  COURT,  CHANCERY  LANE. 


. 


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